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UNITED STATES OF AMEEICA. 



Heart-life in Song, 



Miss Fannie B. Mare. 



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SECOND EDITION. 



(' JUL 23 1883 1 



K I C H M N D, V A. :\ ^ ^ - " ,/^ 

J. W. RANDOLPH & ENGLISH and WEST, JOHNSTON & CO. 

1883. 



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Copyright, 188J 

BY 

F. H. MARK, 



Printed by 

Whittet & Shepperson, 

Bichraond, Va. 



DEDICATION. 



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The Writer. 

AVarrenton. Va , Oct. 1874. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Kosliagautami, 9 

A Mother's Reveuge, 17 

The Orphans: or "Our Father hi Heaven," . . 34 

Old Letters, ^^ 

Family Portraits, • ^^ 

"I Count Only the Hours that are Serene," . . 51 

Life, . . 52 

To my Books, ^^ 

A Simile, ^^ 

To an Infant, ^^ 

Summer Evening, ^^ 

From a Wife, to her Husband, 66 

The Blue Eidge, ^^ 

What is Life's Greatest Blessing? .... 70 

71 
Sympathy, 

To my Sewing Needle, 7o 

Life's Lessons, 

77 



The Present, 

The Gifts of Love, ^^ 

82 



In Memoriam, 



VI CONTENTS. 

Page. 

My Dead, 83 

What She Could, 85 

Unbelief, 86 

Spero, Credo, Fido, 87 

Voice of the Dying, 9q 

The Captive, 92 

Unrecompensed, 95 

Animus Vivit, 98 

The Southern Confederacy, 100 

The South, 103 

Mission of Song, \ .106 

Our Fallen Brave, 110 

The New South, II3 

Lmes of Life, Hg 

"Thy Will be Done," 118 

He Leadeth Me, 12o 

My Saviour, 122 

Come Unto Me, I25 

Our Cup and Baptism, 127 

The Word of God, 129 

Comfortable Words, I3I 

What I Believe, I34 

In Sickness, 13g 

The Workman and the Metal, 138 

The Promises of God, 140 

Trust, 144 

Heaven, I45 

Doubt and Faith, 148 

Pressing Onward, 151 



CONTENTS. Vll 

Page. 

The Saviour for Me, 154 

Fishers' Evening Song, 15(5 

Jesus, 160 

God Kuoweth Best, 161 

Work While It Is To-Day, 162 

Our Gifts, 163 

Thy Trouble, 164 

The Dead in Christ. 166 

St. James' Church, 167 

Infant Baptism, 170 

AH Saints' Day, 172 

Communion Thoughts: 

Before Communion, . . . . . . .175 

The Invitation, 177 

After Communion, 179 

Departed Saints, 181 



HEART LIFE IN SONG. 



KOSHAGAUTAM 

A HINDOO LEGEND. 



WHEN Time was young, and Buddha dwelt 
with men, 
Uttering his precious words of wisdom ; when 
The wronged, the suffering, and the needy came 
To ask his counsel, or his aid to claim, 
It chanced that by him often-times there stood 
A simple, artless daughter of the wood, — 
Kosliagautami, — who, with eager ear 
And timid heart, like graceful fawn, drew near, 
Listened awhile, then lightly disappeared. 
As if observing eye she shunned and feared. 
Often had Buddha w^atched her standing by. 
With glowing, parted lips, and kindling eye ; 
But when he sought, with prophet glance, to see 
Her inner, hidden life, — then, even he, 
2 



10 KOSHAGAUTAMt. 



Bucldlia, so great, and wise, and learned styled, 
Was baffled, thwarted, bj the woman-child. 

With all the buoyant hope and trust of wife. 
She, with her chosen,* was just entering life. 
Far from the haunts of men, the happy two 
Lived for each other, faithful, kind and true. 
Rich in the treasure of a priceless love, 
Guileless and peaceful as the gentle dove. 
Their present flowed too smoothly, swiftly on 
To leave one sigh for days or pleasures gone ; 
And to their gaze the future only cast 
A brightened image of the happy past. 

One little boy made short the long, glad days 
With cooing laughter and sweet, childish ways, 
And won, without an effort, without art. 
The wild, deep worship of the mother's heart. 
She loved, — but not as we of colder climes. 
Of calculating days and reasoning times. 
Who give, despite of Nature's loud demand, 
A measured love, with cautious heart and hand. 
Her love — a full, deep current — strongly flowed 
With every beat of pulse, and stream of blood — 



KOSHAGAUTAMI. 11 



Intensified existence — calmed its strife, 

And was her food, her air, her breath, her life. 

One day the prattle ceased ; the laughter fled ; 

The little limbs grew still; — the child was dead. 

The wondering mother fondly, wildly pressed 

The cold, stiif infant to her throbbing breast. 

She rocked and shook him ; then she sang and cooed ; 

Then forced between his lips the savory food ; 

Then rubbed and chafed him ; tossed him to and fro ; 

For oh ! the heavy silence awed her so, 

She would have leaped with joy to hear again 

That infant voice, although in moans of pain ! 

Alas! where had the artless mother been 

Ne'er to have known the penalty of sin ? 

Ne'er to have known the chill, the vanished breath, 

The awful stillness of what we call — death ? 

With love that never curbs her strong desires; — 

With love that never falters, never tires ; 

With love that never yields to cold despair. 

But wills and acts, though Reason says, '^ Forbear ;" — 

Koshagautami placed the lifeless form 

Upon her hips, and on, through sun and ^^torm. 



12 KOSHAGAUTAMI. 



Wandered o'er plains, and up and down the wood, 

Asking each passer what would do him good. 

And all, with innate courtesy, gave place. 

Looked pityingly into the wistful face 

And hollow eyes that asked so strange a thing. 

Yet never help or ray of hope could bring ; 

And then the patient mother thought of one 

To whom all things were easy, all things known; 

And with a new strong hope she turned with haste 

To seek the aid of India's mighty Priest. 

" Surely," she said, stilling her bosom's woes, 

'' Surely some help, some hope, great Buddha knows." 

He sat beneath a spreading banyan tree. 

And men had gathered all around, while he 

Unfolded to them from the mighty deep 

Of his ow^n soul some thought, some truth, to keep. 

O Buddha, when, like mountain capp'd with snows, 

Al)ove the plain of common minds thou rose, 

Seelving, with only Nature's light and lore. 

To make men wiser, better than before. 

Thou sought tlie noblest task that e'er was given 

To fallen man by an o'er-ruling heaven ! 

And if in darkness thou didst blindly grope, 



KOSHAGAUTAMl. 13 



Striving in vain the close-barred gates to ope 
That swelled the tide of ignorance and doubt, 
And shut the floods of higher knowledge out, 
Thy soaring spirit in its daring flight. 
Caught now and then a glimmer of the liglit! 



The truly great are good, and when he saw 
Koshagautami gently near him draw. 
And read upon her young and clouded face 
The lines that only spirit grief can trace. 
His heart, with tender, soothing pity stirred. 
And his kind ear waited her opening word. 

How strong and brave love makes us ! Ne'er before, 
Save in the distance humbly to adore. 
Had she dared gaze on him ; yet now, without 
One check of fear, one shade of blinding doubt, 
Or thought of aught, save that she came to crave. 
And that he held the power to help and save ; 
She came — the lifeless burden on h6r hips ; 
She came — the heart-wish trembling on her lips. 

"Behold," said she, "my child! How^ still he lies! 
How cold and stiff his limbs ! How strange his eyes ! 



14 KOSHAGAUTAMI. 



Yainly I've tried each simple charm and art; 
No word, no laughter comes to cheer my heart. 
But dost not thou, O blessed Master, know 
Something to make again the life-blood flow V 

As answ^ering echo back on echo flies, 

Reflected sorrow glistened in' his eyes. 

As he replied : " Daughter, I do. Make speed ; 

Bring hither in thy hand some mustard seed. 

From the first home that thou canst find, where one 

Hath never died, and I will heal thy son." 

Back to the town, still bearing on her dead, 

Koshagautami quickly, wildly sped, 

And at the first low house her footsteps stayed. 

And, with faint voice, her small petition made; 

And as with tremblmg hand the seed she took. 

Said with an eager and imploring look, 

" Tell me, hath any in this home e'er died V 

Alas ! the mastet* bowed his head, and sighed, 

" 'Tw^as but last moon death seized my fairest one. 

Him that my soul loved best — my first-born son!" 

" The seed is worthless, then," she sadly saidj 
And to another dwelling quickly sped; 



KOSHAGAUTAMI. 15 



And on and on, until the day was spent. 
But everywhere the sorrowing mother went, 
She found a mightier one had been before, 
And, with a sickened heart, she souglit no more. 

As alchemists, with patient, tireless thought. 

Through centuries of time have vainly sought 

Things not in Nature, yet have haply found 

Their ill-directed efforts nobly crowned 

With knowledge far more precious, far more great. 

Than all their wildest fancies could create ;— 

So did this mother, in her fruitless task, 

Find what she did not seek, and did not ask. 

She found the seed that in each grief is sown; 

Found that in sorrow she stood not alone ; 

And that the burden she accepted not 

Was but the common fate, the common lot. 

Ashamed that she had dared to murmur o'er 

What all the world in silent suffering bore. 

She took the child, and, in a lonely place, 

Covered with moss and leaves his form and face. 

Then came again where Buddha sat, and said, 

" Master, I found no seed such as you bade 

Me brinj>:. There is no home without its dead." 



16 KOSHAGAUTAMI. 



" No, daughter ,' in this world of change and pain, 
Thou long maj'st ask and seek such seed in vain. 
Thine eye hath seen, thy heart doth feel it true. 
The dead are many, and the living few. 
But hast thou in thy searching nothing found 
That, like a ligature, thy grief hath bound ? 
The load beneath whose burden one would fall 
Grows lighter if the weight is shared by all. 
In shade and silence let thy grief be laid ; 
Earth has no home, no heart, without its dead." 



AMOTHEK'SEEYENGE. 



LOOK on me, ye who idly pass this way; 
Aye, stop and gaze, as if, with horror filled. 
Ye viewed a monster; — one from whose strong 

power 
And frightful passions ye w^onld shrink away. 
Look well upon this bent-np, shrivelled form; 
'Tis mightier than a giant's. See this hand, 
Trembling and withered ; it has strength with which 
Ye dare not cope. But if ye'll stay and hear, 
I'll tell of grief and suffering such as ye 
Have never dreamed of; and when ye shall fall 
Upon your knees to-night, pray God in heaven 
That ye may never feel. Listen to me : 
Fancy yourselves gifted, or cursed, by God, 
As I have been, with passions deep and wild. 
Stand ye where I have stood ; Ijear what I bore ; 
Feel all that I have felt; suffer as I 
Have suffered ; turn each feeling to the light ; 



18 

Probe to the quick each passion ; and if ye 
Can lift your hands to heaven, and say ye had 
More patient been, and stronger to endure. 
Then may ye pass harsh judgment upon me. 

I once was young, and innocent, and gay; 
Life was as dear, as beautiful, to me 
As now it seems to you. Each fleeting day 
Brought new enjoyment; night, a calm repose. 
Hope walked beside me, and the air was filled 
With love's rich perfume. To my lips, — 
My eager, thirsting lips, — was pressed a cup 
Full of delicious sweetness, and I drank. 

I stood — a bride — beside the altar, as 

A thousand forms, before and since, have stood. 

With all the fervency of youth, I pledged 

Myself to one, who gave his all to me. 

If ye have known the freshness of young love ; 

If ye have had each longing passion stilled. 

And every hour and every moment filled 

With so much joy there was no more to crave, — 

Then may ye feel what bliss was mine. 

The newer longings of a jiew^er lif^ 



19 



God heard and answered; and I thought and said 

That He was good. A little form lay on 

My breast ; lips ravishing sweet met mine ; 

I looked in beauteous eyes whose depths disclosed 

A new created world of rare delight. 

My cup of joy, so brimming full before, 

With rich and blissful happiness ran o'er. 

I thought my soul was more 
Than filled with one ; but when six children called 
Me mother, there was room and love for all. 
My first-born was my joy, my hope, my pride. 
He was the fairest, dearest, best, where all 
Were good and beautiful. I had no thought 
Apart from him ; he filled my days with joy, 
My slumbers with delight. I could not tear 
Him from my present or my future, and 
The wonder was that I had ever lived 
Without him. Then the shadows fell across 
My path ; my boy began to fade and droop. 
As doth a tender plant whose stalk is snapt. 
A little hump between his shoulders grew. 
At which my husband laughed, and said my fears 
Were groundless, and as idle as a child's. 



20 



I sought the aid of science, and I watched 

The doctor's face, as if within his hand 

He held a fate more precious than my own. 

His tones were cheerful, but his look was grave. 

I knew my child Avas doomed. Words cannot paint 

My agony of soul. I begged, as men 

Beside the stake or scaffold have been heard 

To beg for life, that he would save my boy. 

He calmed me, saying that he had not thought 

Of death; but — and he touched the little hump, 

Then glanced across the street. My watchful eye 

Followed him, as the fated victim doth 

Its charmer, and I saw a hunchback pass. 

Boys running at his heels, pointing at him. 

With scoffs and jeers. '^ O God, be pitiful ! 

My boy, — my darling, beauteous boy, — my pride, — 

To live, and be like that! Earth, open M'ide 

A kindly grave, and hide him from my sight !" 

So prayed my soul in its first agony. 
Alas, for ignorance ! I did not know 
How suffering and affliction deepen love. 
I did not know that every pain he bore 
Would make him nearer, dearer to my heart. 



21 

I knew not that the fell, the bitter stroke, 
Which severed him from others, would but bind 
Him closer unto me. The love I nourished 
Deeper, wilder grew, until it was 
'No longer love, but soul-idolatry. 

Months — years — passed by, and wrought a wondrous 

change. 
Things somehow twisted and distorted grew; 
Whether 'twas I or others, would be hard 
For tongue to tell. It may be I had grown 
Unloving and imlovable ; — God knows. 
My husband had become indifferent 
And cold to me; — harsh, cruel, to my child. 
I little minded what he gave to me, 
But when cross words, and heavy, stunning blows 
Came to my boy, the creeping, sluggish blood 
Leaped with a fever heat from vein to vein. 
And passions, that before had calmly slept. 
Coiled 'round the very centre of my soul. 
Raged fierce and wild, and would not be subdued. 
I saw my son grow fearful of his sire. 
Shrink from his glance, and shudder at his step. 
Oh ! it is terrible when that dear name. 



22 A mother's revenge. 



Wliicli ought to be a sheltering tower of strength, 

A fountain of delight, becomes a dread 

And terror, and the place that ought to be 

A miniature of heaven, an earthly hell, 

Where every sinful passion is unchained. 

And discord, hatred, dwell, — a place from whicli 

We long to flee, but cannot get away. 

My boy was never aught but beautiful 

To me. His face was like a fair, fresh flower 

Upon a rude, unsightly rock ; or as 

A limpid, placid lake, enclosed by rough 

And rugged cliffs. His growing mind w^as like 

A jewel set in stone ; his deep, rich thoughts. 

Clothed in the choicest drapery of words, 

Revealed the mighty reservoir of wealth 

Hid in that mis-shaped form. His eye was of 

Heaven's deepest blue ; his brow of purest snow. 

On which the soft hair fell, like sunny beam ; 

His lip was pale, and beautifully carved ; 

His smile was not the meteor's quick, bright flash, 

'Twas lingeringly sweet, as sunset hues. 

His voice was softer than a flute ; no sound 

In nature hath a depth so rich and full. 



23 



His hand was thiiij and delicate, and white, 

And its cool touch soft as a loving woman's. 

Oh, if ye know aught beautiful and dear, 

'Tis what my boy was like ! If ye have one 

Ye prize above all others, — cne for whom 

Ye would lie down and die, then is that one 

Like my dear, sainted boy. ' vc.'ai- 

One day the father came, 
And said his child was growing like a girl; 
That he must go and learn to be a man ; 
Must rough it with the world ; must measure strength 
With boys, and not for ever hang upon 
A woman's hand. 

I said he should not go. He said he should. 
I told him there were five; that he could take. 
Or one, or all, if he would only leave 
This stricken one with me. But he said, "No." 
I knelt. Upon my knees, to sinful man, 
I prayed as unto God. I prayed and wept. 
He only spurned and tln-ust me from his feet. 
Then, after a long, bitter strife, after - 
Harsh, biting words, whicl:, for slow, weary years, 
Jlave eaten, like a canker, in my heart. 



24 



I yielded ; — ^yielded, for his arm was strong. 
The world, and law, and custom, all were on 
His side, and only right on mine; and ye 
Well know that they have powder enough to crush 
Both truth and right to dust. 

They bore him to a school, long widely famed 
For its harsh discipline, its meagre fare. 
Its almost Draco laws. 'Twas leagues from home; 
And when the boy wept sore and clung to me. 
And said that he would die if sent away, 
I marvel that I could have let him go ; 
But when his quick eye saw I suffered too. 
He locked his feelings in his breast, and wept 
No more; but mutely took his place within 
The noble line of martyrs. O my boy ! 
Could I but bring thee back; — could I but see 
Thee as I saw thee then, — not earth and hell 
Combined should take thee from me ! I would hurl 
Defiance at them all; and, seizing thee. 
Would fly to some lone spot, and, if I could 
Not live, would die with thee ! 

My only pleasures were 
The letters that he wrote, and mine to him. 



A mothek's revenge. 25 



My two great eras were the day he left, 
And that he would return. 

One quiet noon, 
After the whirl of morn had calmed away. 
My husband came in hastily, and laid 
A letter in my hand. A sudden fear 
Seized on me, piercing to the very quick. 
The paper quivered, rattled in my hand. 
It trembled so. My sight grew dim, my brain 
Confused ; the letters were so indistinct, 
And blurred, and running all together, that 
I could not read. And then my husband spoke : 
"Our boy is ill; and we will go to him." 
It was as if he said, " Our boy is dead." 
My palsied tongue kept silence, but I looked 
At him, and if a glance has power to speak. 
Then did mine say, " He's dead ! and by your hand." 

We travelled side 
By side, yet neither spoke a word. I know 
Not what he thought; but as for me, I knew 
My boy was dead. And when we reached tlie house 
I looked to see the crape upon the knob ; 



26 



And it was there. They led us up broad steps 
Into a little room where he had died. 
The father stayed behind ; he dared not look 
On him he had so sorely, deeply wronged. 

And I was glad. I wished to be alone. 

I found him stretched upon a narrow bed, 

A single, tireless watcher at his side, 

A pale-faced youth, who rose at my approach, 

And left me with my dead. I did not weep. 

Grief such as mine knows not the shallow fount 

Of tears. I drew the white cloth from his face. 

And lookedj-^looked full upon my idol, that 

A mighty hand had in the night cast down. 

His features A^^ere like chiselled marble in 

Their calm and still repose. His thin, pale hands, 

Longer and whiter than before, were crossed 

Above his breast. No vestige of a smile 

Lingered upon the wasted lips, that had 

For ever closed with sighs of weariness. 

The leaden-circled eyes half-opened were. 

Yet dull and meaningless. But oh, his brow. 

His fair, white brow I had so often kissed. 

Was just the same; and on it fell the soft 



A MUTJIEK S REVENGE. 



27 



Bright hair, like cherub's golden wing. 

I pressed his lips ; — they gave no kiss again. 

I called him ; — but he heeded, answered not. 

I lifted up the lids; — the rayless orbs 

So frightened me, I closed them from my sight, 

And sank upon the floor ; yet did not weep, 

Nor die. Death loves not to be wooed ; he Hies 

From those who seek him. 'Tis the happy die. 

The wretched live. 

A step behind aroused me, and I looked, 
And saw the pale-faced ])oy, who came again. 

" What do you know 
Of him ?" I asked ; " how grew he sick ? how died ?" 

'^ He ne'er seemed well to me," he said, " and oft 

I marvelled how his friends could send him here. 

It takes an iron frame, a lion heart. 

To scuffle with this cruel school-boy life. 

But well I'll mind me what I say. These walls 

Have ears — aye, tongues that can repeat. 

But could I see his parents, I would tell 

A tale that they would rather die than hear." 



28 



" Say on ; I am his mother. Never fear ; 

No harm shall come to thee. Say all thou knowest." 

" He died — well — just as many a sickly one 
Has died before. Theij say, grew sick and died : 
I say, was starved and murdered. Now this boy 
Had tasks he could not learn, and then was starved. 
How could he learn when he was faint for want 
Of food and nourishment ? Lift up his form, 
And see the marks of blows, and do not ask 
Me how, or why he died ?" 

'' Hold, boy," T said, 
" Will you stand here by death and God, and swear 
That what you say is true ?" He laid one hand 
Upon the corpse, raising the other, said, 
" I swear." " And I too swear," I cried ; " sweai- by 
This murdered boy, — by all the powers of heaven, 
To be avenged ! Yet fear not thou, dear boy ; 
I would not harm one hair of thy young head." 

With tearless eyes 
I saw my child laid in his narrow grave ; 
I saw them press and pile the cold, damp earth 



A mother's revenge. 29 



Upon him, and I knew they wondering saw 
My calmness ; but I let them wonder. Then 
When all w^as o'er, I said I wanted change — 
Would see my sister, who lived far away. 
I left; but went not near my sister's. I 
Went to the place where he, my boy, had died; 
I stole into tlie master's household ; watched 
Him there ; noted his children one by one ; 
Saw how he smiled on this, and frowned on that. 
I watched him in the quiet evening hours, 
When life's sharp conflict, for a time, was o'er, 
And all the thousand comforts he had brought 
With his unrighteous gains were heaped around ; 
When art made warm the air and soft the light 
Within the little world that he had formed. 
And there, a living l^emesis, I stood, 
Watching with flashing eyes and clenching teeth. 
Hating with all my might, and brooding o'er 
My wTongs, and nursing vengeance in my soul. 
But what could he, poor man, what could he give 
That would be half the value of the one 
That I had lost ? But it w^as well for me 
To take such as he had. This is earth's law 
And justice, and 'twas mine. He killed by best 



30 A mother's revenge. 



And dearest, and I claimed his most beloved. 

I wanted life for life, and child for child ! 

And he loved best — not that young laughing girl, 

Wliose face was beauty's own, whose step was grace. 

And tone was love's ; nor yet the manly boy 

Whose warm blood coursed with vigor through each 

vein. 
Whose heart and form w^ere strong with youth and 

health ; — 
But the sweet bal)e, whose cunning, winning ways 
Made half the music of their happy home. 
That one he loved ; that one I marked my own. 
Oh, how my spirit gloated o'er its prize ! 
How sweet was slow, long vengeance to my heart ! 
How did I draw the pictures of his own 
And mine, until they were daguerreotyped 
Upon my inmost soul. He had kind tones. 
Sweet smiles, and soft caresses for his own ; 
Stern looks, harsh words, and cruel blows for mine ! 
The choicest food, the balmiest air, soft lights, 
And silken couch for his: — hard, mouldy crusts. 
Darkness, and cold, and heaps of straw for mine! 

When none were near, I stole the little babe, 



31 



And bore him swiftly to my distant home, 

And in the farthest cellar, damp, and cold, 

And dark, I placed him. Then I took revenge 

And it was sweet. I sat with forms 

And voices all around, and when through floors. 

And walls of stone, and oaken doors, I heard 

The distant, mutfled sound of infant's wail, 

I laughed aloud, and triumphed in my joy ! 

Each day I went to see the little cheek 

Grow thin and thinner, and with measured tape 

Marked how the limbs were wasting day by day. 

'Twas triumph's self to hear of searching wide. 

And of the father's bitter agony. 

Of great rewards, and armies of police. 

Of all the men on earth I feared but one, 

And he was of my household. His keen glance 

And searching gaze I could not bear to meet. 

Methought he eyed me as the tiger eyes 

His prey ; and moi*e than once 1 had resolved 

To rid and free myself and earth of him. 

Well, he, (my husband,) watched and followed me. 

And found the child when it was almost dead, 

And thwarted me, as he had always done. 



32 



And took the one sweet drop out of my life, 

And brought, and keeps me here, because, forsooth, 

I dared take vengeance in my hand ! 



Thej tell me years have passed since these things 

were. 
I know not how to count and measure time; 
The sunbeams struggling through the iron bars 
Leave on these naked walls no numbering trace. 
Tall, stately men and matrons visit me, 
And say they are my children. It may be. 
But one absorbed my soul, and lie is not; 
The others are as naught. 

There comes, at times, a wliite-haired, saintly man, 
Who talks to me of God, and hope, and heaven. 
I love to hear him, for his words are like 
The dew upon the flinty rock, which, though 
It does not soften, moistens it. I say 
He speaks of hope and heaven; and hope to me. 
Is the blest thought of seeing my beloved, 
And heaven is where he is. 



a^ 



Start not; yon have your reason, — mine is gone. 

Does your God seek what He hath borne away ? 

Or reason ask, when reason is withdrawn ? 

I wait, — the years are long, — I wait and pray 

That He will send a little hand to clip 

Life's worn out thread, and give me back my lost ! 



THE OKPHANS: 



OR, 



IN a rickety house of a close, narrow street, 
Where suffering and sorrow were wont to re- 
treat, 
Two pale little children sat watching the bed 
Where their mother was sleeping, as wan as the dead. 

'Twas a comfortless room, with its old broken pa'nes. 
And its dark, crumbling walls, that were covered 

with stains; 
With only the bare, chilling floor for a seat. 
And a pile of white ashes, long guiltless of heat; 
With only the flickering, glimmering light 
Of a candle, to make less hideous the night ; 
With a heap of damp straw for the sick woman's 

bed, 
And nothing but hope for the near morrow's bread. 
With a motion of suffering, the poor sleeper stirred. 
The eyelids unclosed, but the lips gave no word. 



THE ORPHANS. 35 



Then a quick little watcher raised gently her head, 
And the thin, tattered coverlet tried to respread ; 
And she smoothed the rough hair with a womanly 

stroke, 
And full of kind love were the words that she spoke, 

" You are better, dear mother ; how sweetly you 

slept. 
While brother and I have so quietly kept ! 
I thought 'twould be so when I drew on your cap ; 
There 's no physic so good as a nice little nap." 

" No, darling ; my words you must try to believe ; 
You well know your dear mother would never de- 
ceive. 
Think not I am better; — this calm is the breath. 
And this freedom from pain is the numbness of death." 

The little girl moaned ; — " Oh, what do I hear ? 

Can we work, can we live, with our mother not near ? 

We never will trouble, we never will grieve ; 

O mother, sweet mother, for us try to live ! 

Oh, what will become of me when you are gone ? 

Me — friendless, and fatherless, motherless one ?" 



36 THE ORPHANS. 



'' Dear sister, can't God make our mother get well, 
If He does the kind things I have oft heard you tell f 



" Yes, brother. He can ; He does good, and not ill ; 
And I've asked Him so often I think that He will." 

" Dear children, we know that with God is the power 

To afflict, and to heal ; to exalt, and to lower ; 

And we know that His wise. His unerring behest 

Is not as we think, hut as He knows is hest. 

If it pleases Him now your dear mother to take. 

That mother well knows He will never forsake 

The heart that to Him its all can confide. 

And can own Him as Father, as Friend, and as Guide. 

Whatever is taken, whatever is given. 

Trust hopefully, children, your Father in heaven ! " 

Just then, with a sound of the mournfullest strain. 
The rough wind swept in through the thin, broken 

pane. 
And through the bare room he went searching around 
With a whisk, and a whirl, and a furious bound. 
Till the candle's faint glimmering caught his eye, 
And he quickened his pace as he went whistling by, 



THE ORPHANS. 37 



Bearing on, like a victor, along his wild track. 

The spark that, till then, held the deep darkness back. 

With a shuddering awe the little ones crept 

To their sick mother's side, and piteouslj wept; 

Bat softly and fondly she silenced each moan, 

With a tremulous touch, and an unmoved tone. 

As she quietly bade them beside her lie. 

And then folded her hands, in the darkness to die. 

In smiles the morn awoke; — awoke 

As if there were no pain ; 
As if he never glad dreams broke 
Of those who, when they felt the stroke 
Of pitying slumber's welcome yoke, 
Hoped ne'er to wake again. 
When Death, the iron king, held court. 
It seemed almost a mocking sport 
For the bright, smiling morn to come. 
And flood with light that wretched room, 
And wake to suffering and to tears 
Children grown old with grief — not years. 
And yet it came from the same Hand 
That sped the darkness o'er the land; 



38 THE ORPHANS. 



The very same that soothes and grieves, — 
That lowers and lifts, — that takes and gives. 

The first one to waken to suifering and life 

Was the youngest — the boy, — too young for such 

strife. 
There was nothing but hope in his wakening start. 
There was nothing but trust in his innocent heart ; 
But not for the world would he utter a word 
Till he saw that his sister from slumber had stirred. 

"See, sister, she's sleeping; she's better, I know; 
How I love just to look at her slumbering so!" 

The little girl gazed, and then drew in her breath ; 
She had looked once before on the features of death ; 
But her voice trembled not, as softly she spake, 
" She 's not sleeping — but dead. She will never 
awake." 

"Oh, yes, she will waken; I'm certain she will." 

"Nay; just touch her; you see she is cold — cold — 
and chill." 



THE ORPHANS. 



39 



^' And so are we cold ; and the room is all cold. 
No wonder she's chilled in this dark, dismal hold. 
Oh, I wish I had something to make a bright fire ! 
'Twould warm her to watch it rise higher and 
higher." 

" No, brother ; it all would be woi-se than in vain ; 
She is gone, and we never can warm her again." 

" Gone away ! " said the boy, with a tear in his eye ; 
"Would she go, and not kiss us, and tell us 'Good- 
bye' ?" 

"The angels came down when the darkness was 

deep. 
And they took her away while we both were asleep." 

" And what shall ive do ? — we, so little and weak. 
All alone in the world ? What friend can we seek ?" 

"l^ot alone, dearest brother; we'll mind what she 

said 
In the night, when her hands were placed on each 

head: 



40 



THE ORPHANS. 



* Whatever is taken, whatever is given, 
Trust hopefully, children, your Father in heaven.' 
The morning has come; we will kneel at her side, 
And will pray that He now for us both will pro\dde. 
1 on know we must auk what we wish to be given, 
And there's no one to ask but the Father in heaven." 

And then on the still morning air there arose 
The words and the wish such a faith only knows. 
They knew when they 'd prayed, they had done all 

they could. 
And, calm in that knowledge, they trustingly stood. 
In quietness waiting beside the cold dead 
For the Father in heaven to send them their bread ! 

Of the millions of prayers that winged their way 

In the fresh, balmy air of the opening day, 

Xot one was there louder or mi«:htier said 

Than that of the orphans beside their dead. 

It went through the room, and it went through the 

street. 
Like the flash of the lightning, clear, vivid, and fleet; 
It rose on the air, like a spirit forgiven. 
Till it reached the bowed ear of the Father in heaven. 



THE ORPHANS. 



41 



With magic stroke, it ripples woke, 

In the great sea of thonglit ; 
The swelling circles widened out. 

As if a heart they sought. 
That suffering much, believing much, 
Could beat responsive to their touch. 

And such heart did they reach in a passer-by. 
Who paused at the sound of the children's cry. 
Through the broken glass he had seen them kneel. 
And heard words that could soften a heart of steel ; 
But he reverently stood by the lialf-open door 
Till the touching prayer of the children was o'er. 
Then softly he entered. One look round the room 
Told plainly the tale of their sorrow and gloom. 
At sight of a stranger the little ones crept 
To the pallet of straw, as though they still kept 
Their confident trust, as ever of yore. 
In the mother that never had failed them before. 
But kindly he asked them the cause of their grief. 
And gently and tenderly proifered relief. 

To their mother they pointed, and sobbingly said, 
'' She was all that we had, and you see she is dead. 



42 THE ORPHANS. 



We did all we could that she easy might be, 
But she died in the night, and we could not see. 
We slept in the darkness, and she was alone 
When she went to the place where death is un- 
known. 
And there's none to take care of us, none to us 

given. 
Unless it may be — the good Father in heaven ! " 

Oh ! if it be anguish to die when the ones 
That love us are near, — when the tenderest tones 
And the kindliest of hands are smoothing the way, 
While the cold touch of death is unfastening each 

stay,— 
What must it be in the darkness to die. 
When we know that no heart, no hand, can be nigh ! 

If it's hard foi* a mother her babes to conhde 
To the hand of another herself has long tried, 
What must the faith of that parent have been 
In the One she had trusted without having seen, 
When alone she could leave helpless babes at her 

side. 
So sure that the God she had served would provide ! 



THE ORPHANS. 43 



If it's hard to give up even 07ie that we love, 
When the void is soon tilled as the years onward move, 
How strong must the hearts of those children have 

been 
As they saw^ the last hand upon w^hich they could 

lean 
Grow lifeless and cold, — yet could turn from that 

dust 
Above and beyond, with a Cliristian-like trust, 
And, though from their reach every helper seemed 

driven. 
Could so hopefully cling to their Father in heaven ! 
Oh, there was the fountain of tenderest love. 
And there was the faith that mountains could move 1 

"The good man wept sore as he drew to his side 
The children who had none but God to provide. 
And he asked, "Will you go to my bright, pleasant 

home, 
Where suffering and want such as yours cannot 

come ?" 

But the little girl sighed, and shook sadly her head. 
As she meaningly glanced at the form on the bed. 



44 THE ORPHANS. 



Then he spake once again : " When we 've laid her to 

rest, 
And tlie earth has been placed above her still breast ?" 

And she said, " We will go, and yve ask not your name, 
I^or whither vou take iis, for surely you came 
From Him w^ho provideth whatever is given. 
And who careth for all — the good Father in heaven ! " 



OLD LETTEES. 

I KEEP them still, though faded now and worn. 
And of each trace of beauty long since shorn ; 
To strangers' eyes a tattered pile and old, 
Fit to be stored in some neglected hold, 
With all the rubbish that we cast away, 
As if unworthy of the light of day. 

And yet, from all that heaping round me lies 
To charm with grace or use fastidious eyes, 
Were I at danger's sudden call to wake. 
And bid my heart its valued treasure take. 
This faded packet with its yellow strings 
Would find a place among her precious things. 

From many a quiet, happy, peaceful home 
These fleet-winged messengers of love have come; 
O'er many a weary mile of land and sea, 
Have safely brought their costly freight to me ; 
Brought to my sight, wdth more than human art, 
The priceless coinage of some loving heart. 



46 OLD LETTERS. 



The skill of man has taught the sun to trace 
And fix the lineaments of form and face; 
Wrung from inexorable Time and Death 
Part of their stolen prej — a shade — a breath ; 
But these can paint with higher, nobler art 
The lasting photographs of mind and heart. 

As when, by life's sharp conflicts roughly toss'd, 

Before the portraits of the early lost, 

We love, at times, in quietness to stand. 

And look with yearning heart and outstretched 

hand; 
So on these pictures of my happier days 
I love, with soft and sad regret, to gaze. 

They are not dead to me,— but fresh, and rife 

With all the glow of animating life; 

ITot homely, — they are bright, and true, and fair ; 

Not worthless, — mines of richest wealth they bear; 

Not dumb, — but ever eloquent with word, 

And thought, and tone, affection loves to hoard. 

They are to me no rude, unsightly heap, 

But sacred tombs, where hallowed memories sleep ; 



OLD LETTERS. 47 



Where, on the rest-days of a workmg life, 
I love to turn from toil, and care, and strife. 
And o'er these urns of hearts, and hopes, and years. 
Let fall the sorrowing spirit's soothing tears. 

Time holds enough, relentlessly and fast. 
Within his wormy, mouldering, coffined past; 
Enough within that cold, decaying grave, 
I would have died a thousand times to save; 
With my life's treasures, as in sport, he played. 
Grasping the substance, — let me keep the shade ! 

Keep, as the blinded Eastern devotee 
The sacred stone no Christian eye may see; 
Keep, as the miser keeps his shining gold. 
Safe in my honse and spirit's strongest hold ; 
Keep, till the life-long sacrifice is made, 
And heart and memory in one grave are laid ! 



FAMILY POKTKAITS. 

I GAZE upon them, one by one, 
Those faces loved so well of yore ; 
And weep to think that on this earth 
Those faces shall be seen no more. 

Oh ! they were young, and fair and good. 

And life was but a joy to them; 
And they had strong, enduring hearts. 

That floods of ill and wrong could stem. 

They came, — they lingered for a while, — 

They blessed the homes that gave them birth ; 

They hallowed every joy and grief. 
Made dearer life, and fairer earth. 

They vanished — as the hues of morn ; 

They died — as dies the summer breeze; 
They swept like phantoms by, and left 

Naught but a cold, white stone — and these : 



FAMILY PORTRAITS. 49 



These silent, changeless semblances, — 

These beckoning shades that mock my sight 

These fleshless, bloodless forms, that cast 
O'er memory's waste a meteor light. 

And bring again long vanished joys, 

That mingle strangely with earth's din ; 

And words and tones that, but for these, 
I could believe had never been. 

O eyes, that kindled at my sight ! 

lips, once wont to smile on me ! 

hands, that warmly clasped my own, 
Your sameness is but mockery ! 

1 mourn — and still ye calmly smile ; 

1 weep — ye see unmoved the tear; 
I stretch my pleading hands, I call ; 

Ye do not heed, ye will not hear. 

I cannot gaze on features loved 

As yours, and think ye thus estranged ; 

Ah no ! — ye are to-day the same : — 
'Tie only life and I have changed ! 



5Q FAMILY PORTRAITS. 



For ye do speak ; your voiceless lips 

And changeless smile have but one tone, 

Which bids my fainting soul be strong 
To do, and bear, and suffer on. 

Then let me steal from earth away, 

Steal from its pangs, its strifes, its storms ; 

And, like a pilgrim to his shrine. 

Come oft, and gaze on your still forms, — 

Until your calmness falls on me, 
As evening shadows on the hill; 

And I, upon life's changing tide, 
Can look as ye, unmoved and still. 



" I COUNT ONLY THE HOURS THAT ARE 
SERENE." 

MOTTO ON A SUN-DIAL IN VENICE. 

I LET the heavy days go by — 
The days of woe when pain is queen ; 
Let pass the sorrow and the grief, 

And "count the hours that are serene." 

Quicker the creeping shadows glide 

If memory does not intervene; 
Unsought they come, unnoticed die — 

" I count the hours that are serene." 

I mark the sunbeam, — not the shade; 

Of brightness, not of darkness, glean ; 
I know not how to trace the clouds, — 

" I count the hours that are serene." 

O passers on the road of life, 

O dials of a sun unseen, 
Would ye of bliss the secret learn ? 

" Count but the hours that are serene." 



LIFE. 

WHAT is it? — essence? — spirit? — breath? — or 
power ? 
That universal, fine, ethereal thing, 
Stretched o'er a thousand years, or to an hour 

Compressed ; — now coming and now vanishing ? 
Behold, within a world sustained by heaven, 

Where all with vexing mystery is rife. 

The greatest, noblest boon to mortals given, 

The grandest mystery of nature — life. 

The part that we may see, the part w^e know, 

Is but an atom of the mighty whole; 
Is as one bud to all the flowers that grow. 

One blade to all the grass whose leaves um*oll; 
Is as a rushlight to the noon-day sun; 

One grain to all the sands of ocean's shore ; 
One stroke to all the toil conceived or done ; 

One infant wail to grand Niagara's roar. 



LIFE. 53 

Beyond created time it stretches back, 

Iq thick, impenetrable folds entwined ; 
And sweeping on in deepening, widening track, 

Leaves thought and calculation far behind. 
Conception strains its utmost power in vain 

To grasp the dark, mysterious One in Three ; 
And droops ere it can find the subtile chain 

That binds the was, and is, and is to be. 

As shipwrecked mariner on drifting spar. 

Aroused to consciousness, as from a trance. 
Darting his wild, despairing eyes afar, 

Beholds one boundless, fathomless expanse; 
So we, still drifting, drifting on, may send 

Our longing gaze behind, before, and see 
On neither side, beginning, course, nor end; 

Only a shoreless, vast immensity. 

Life is the fiat of the Eternal One ; 

An emanation of the Will Divine ; 
The breath of Him who speaks and it is done ; 

The working of His deep and wise design. 
His gift, incomprehensible and vast, — 

Mao^nificent and o-od-like : — and to be, — 



54 LIFE. 

To be, and last as He Himself shall last, 
Is our eternal and fixed destiny. 

O thought sublime and terrible I — to be 

Part of the Centre that upholdeth all ; 
Part of the Infinite and only free, 

To rise eternal, or eternal fall ! 
For life is all in one grand largess given; 

It is to stand where holy angels fell : 
It is a bliss ineffable in heaven, 

But deepest, direst misery in hell. 

We may not choose : — who draws the breath of 
God, 

However feebly, draws that breath for ever. 
Unconscious heirs, we change our state, our road. 

We change our world — we end existence never. 
Life is the horologe whose secret springs 

Our rude, rough hands may never press upon ; 
'Tis the projectile the All Powerful flings 

In empty space that must move ever on. 

Sooner might we exclude the light of day, 

Call on the flowers to bloom, or winds to blow; 



LIFE. 55 

Sooner might animate the senseless clay, 
Bid comets stand, or rivers cease to flow ; 

Might make of stars a pathway for our feet, 
Or laws to other, higher worlds decree ; 

Or hm4 th' Eternal from His heavenly seat. 
Than for a single moment cease to be ! 

Strip life of its externals; lay it bare 

Of honor, wealth, and comfort ; yet if free 
From crime's polluting touch, it still is fair, — 

Aye more, — 'tis great and glorious to be ! 
With lips of dust to draw the kingly breath 

Whose source and fountain is eternity; 
And, sheathed in mail impregnable to death, 

As God, and angels, and just men, — to be I 

O mortal, where and whatsoe'er thou art, 

Outcast and banned, this yet remains to thee; 
Lift up thy drooping head, and let thine heart 

Rejoice in that thou art — rejoice to be! 
O peer and mate of angels, even now 

A radiant light on thy lone path doth shine; 
A crown of glory rests upon thy brow, — 

The boon of immortality is thine! , 



TO MY BOOKS. 

COMEADES long tried!— friends of my lonely 
heart! 
Who ne'er to me could aught but joy impart, 
I love to gaze on your familiar forms — 
The same through summer's suns and winter's storms, 
And feel, whate'er I am, where'er I range. 
There are S07ne things that weary not, nor change. 

I have been in the world, and I have sought 

Its glittering scenes — its maddening pleasures bought. 

With hot and thirsting lip, advanced to drain 

Its proffered cup of mingled joy and pain: 

And as the man who long at Bacchus' shrine 

Hath knelt, turns sickened from the sparkling wine, 

To purer streams that kindly nature gives, 

And, like a child, stoops down, and drinks, and lives. 



TO MY BOOKS. 

So does my weary, aching heart, grown tired 
Of joys that sated not, though long desired, 
Turn to the ever-gushing fount, where first 
This eager spirit slaked its burning thirst. 

Ye never turned from me in proud disdain, 
Laughed at my ignorance, nor mocked my pain ; 
Ye never chid me for perception slow, 
But patiently, with tender voice and low^, 
As doth a mother, ye went o'er and o'er 
The lessons learned with labor long and sore. 

No cold neglect your warmth could ever chill. 
No wilful wanderings your chidings still ; 
How turns to-day my eager heart, with true 
And yearning tenderness, again to you ! 
To you — that life's sharp pain the more endears ! 
To you — the tried and faithful friends of years ! 

Soothe me, as once of yore, with winsome art. 
Ye soothed to rest my panting, feverish heart ; 
Kaise from the dust this mute, despairing soul. 
Show to these downcast eyes a loftier goal; 
4 



57 



5S TO MY BOOKS. 



With mercy's hand your sparkling cordial give, 
That these faint lips may drink once more, and live ! 

In my still chamber wide unfold to me. 
Scenes that mine eyes have vainly longed to see ; 
Tell me of all the great and good of earth. 
Of suffering patience, and of struggling worth : 
Rehearse each noble thought, each glorious deed. 
Till spirit shall on kindred spirit feed. 

With power prophetic, and magi(}ian art, 
Sound to its lowest depths the human heart ; 
Bring to the light the hidden things of time. 
The hoarded, prized, and sought of every clime: 
Wage with decay and change a ceaseless strife, 
And give the dead the form, the voice of life. 

Teach me to emulate their noble deeds. 

To turn my feet where stainless glory leads ; 

Climbing like them the rugged road and rough. 

Following their footsteps, though it be far off; 

And, like Elisha, gaze, until on me 

May fall the shadow of their drapery. 



TO MY BOOKS. 59 



Like them, the good, the lofty, and the true 
Of life, with constant, tireless heart pursue; 
Like them, a faithful, friendly light hold forth, 
Over the wild, dark paths and moors of earth ; 
Breatliing the words that point men on and higher. 
Touched, like the prophet's lips, with holy fire ! 



A SIMILE. 



THE restless water strives 
And struggles in its course ; 
Its single, constant aim to reach 
The level of its source. 



And so the fettered soul, 

Through mist, and film, and clod, 
Is ever striving to attain. 

Its source and fountain — God. 



TO AN INFANT. 

LITTLE stranger, dost thou come 
Seeking on this earth a home ? 
Nestler in thy mother's heart, 
Dost thou seek with us a part ? 
Seek the pleasure and the woe 
Mingled in each cup helow? 

Joy of earth, and heir of heaven. 
Child of love, in mercy given ; 
Drawing us with winning ways 
Back to our own infant days: 
Blessed days ! when we within 
Were as free as thou from sin; 

When we fondly look as now 
On thy fair, thy stainless brow ; 
And witli hearts that know so well, — 
As our own worn spirits tell — 



62 TO AN INFANT. 



What the strife of earth must be ; 
Can we gladly welcome thee % 

Welcome thee with joy among 
Life's soul-weary, laboring throng ? 
Welcome thee to pains and tears, 
Mocking hopes and sorrowing years ? 
Welcome thee, sweet, guiltless one, 
To each grief that we have known ? 

Yes ! with hearts that know full well 
What the lips refuse to tell ; 
Know the bitter pangs and strife ; 
Xnow the joys, the bliss of life ; 
And its depths, its fulness see 
Gladly do we welcome thee. 

For thou hast the power to bless 
In our hours of bitterness ; 
And with winsome smile and voice 
Thou dost bid us here rejoice ; 
Pointing, as we onward glide. 
To the brightest, sunniest side. 



TO AN INFANT. 63 



And we know life endeth not 

With earth's weaiy, sorrowing lot ; 

But above, bejond the sky, 

Is thy spirit's destiny; 

And we watch thee fitting here 

For thy higher, holier sphere. 



SUMMEK EVENING. 
DOWN tlie West, 



A. 



In crimson dress'd, 
The kingly sun sinks to his rest; 

And robed in state 

Meet for the great, 
The clouds, like princely courtiers, wait. 

The weary Day 

Sees pass away 
To feebler hands his powerful sway ; 

And from his seat, 

With blushes sweet. 
Bends low his sister, Night, to greet. 

In distant view. 

The mountains blue 
Blend with the skies their changeless hue. 

As if they strove 

In deed to prove 
Our nearness to the world above. 



SUIVIMER EVENING. 65 



The gushing note 

From birdling throat 
Across the fields hatli ceased to float ; 

But 'round tlie hill 

The tricksome rill 
In measured cadence ripples still. 

With transient blaze, 

The fire-fly strays 
O'er many a wild and tangled maze; 

And loud arid shrill 

The whip-poor-will 
Repeats his sad, unvaried trill. 

Then all about, 

As half in doubt, 
The trembling stars peep coyly out ; 

And like a pall, 

Enrobing all. 
The deepened shades and shadow^s fall. 



FEOM A WIFE, TO HEE HUSBAND. 

IF I have sought by art the gifts 
Of nature to supply, 
Or ever asked for beauty's charm, 
'Twas but to please thine eye. 

If I witli labor strove to make 

The stores of learning mine, 
'Twas that I might belittingly 

As thy companion shine. 

If I have ever seemed to seek, 

With tireless zeal, for fame, 
'Twas that thy heart with pride might tin-ill 

At mention of my name. 

The praise of other lips than thine 

Is less than naught to me ; 
I know no world where thou art not, 

No life apart from thee ! 



THE BLUE EIDGE. 

O MOUNTAINS of Blue, like sentinels guarding 
The vale and the plain with vigilance true, 
Like bulwarks of strength, or citadels warding, 
Unyielding ye stand, sweet Mountains of Blue. 



Ye rise like monarchs of proud, olden spirit, 
Beceiving the homage they feel is their due ; 

Like genius, exalted by virtue and merit, 

Far off and above us, sweet Mountains of Blue. 



Like Faith, holy Faith, who, serene and imdaunted. 
Still bears on her forehead heaven's pure, beaming 
hue ; 

And walking a world by sin and guilt haunted. 
Yet points us above, sweet Mountains of Blue. 



68 THE BLUE KIDGE. 



Ye catch the first glimpse of the smile-beaming morn- 
ings 
Whose clear, heavenly rays your glories renew ; 
And with sunlight and purple your summits adorning, 
In splendor they crown you, sweet Mountains of 
Blue. 

When day has departed, and evening has lighted. 
With soft, quiet beauty, each tranquilling view. 

The splendors of morn, noon, and eve, are united 
In glory around you, sweet Mountains of Blue. 

Time sweeps from our grasp the hopes that we cherish, 
Change marketh the paths our footsteps pursue ; 

Yet ye stand while men rise, flourish, and perish, 
For ever the same, sweet Mountains of Blue. 

Fair emblems of truth, unchanged and unchanging, 
Though tempests may veil awhile from our view; 

Beyond the dark clouds and thunderbolts ranging. 
Like truth above error, sweet Mountains of Blue. 

No wonder the heathen bow down and adore you. 
So majestic, and grand, and unchangeably true; 



THE BLUE RIDGE, 69 



Had I stood like them, untutored, before you, 

I too would have worshipped, sweet Mountaius of 
Blue. 

And now, when away from time's bitter strife turning^ 
I seek the pure joys of my youth to renew, 

I gaze on yom- summits, and with you returning. 
Greet high, holy visions, sweet Mountains of Blue. 

For if ever the peace heaven giveth here fills me. 
If ever the world recedes from my view, 

It is when the light of a Sabbath-eve thrills me, 
Beneath your pure azure, sweet Mountains of Blue. 

Let me stand, tho\igh earth's tempest's around me are 
driven. 

Serene, and unmoved, and unyielding, like you ; 
With my heart and my eyes still lifted to heaven, 

For ever the same, sweet Mountains of Blue. 

Bend o'er me while life's pulses through me are leap- 
ing, 

Speak to me of thoughts and deeds, noble and true ; 
And when low in silence and dust I am sleeping. 

Keep watch o'er my ashes, sweet Mountains of Blue. 



WHAT IS LIFERS GEEATEST BLESSING? 

TASKED the sick man, and he said, " 'Tis health." 
I asked the poor man, and he answered, " Wealth." 
I asked the lonely prisoner. '' Ah ! " said he, 
" The greatest boon of life is to be free." 
I asked the laborer, with toil oppressed. 
He wiped his aching ])row, and answered, " Eest." 
So I have learned this truth, — that each man counts 
Life's greatest blessing is the one he w^ants. 



SrMPATHY. 

After all, it is but a little way that our friends can go with us ; and 
sympathy, like everything human, has bound; that it cannot pass. 

IHAYE had friends — and they were dear; 
How dear, this heart, so fondly keeping 
Sad vigils o'er them year by year, 
Tells in its secret, ceaseless weeping. 

I have had friends — and they were true 
To every pulse of generous feeling ; 

Their memory o'er me, like the dew. 
With fragrant freshness now is stealing. 

But in my bosom hangs a veil 

Before the holiest of her holies ; 
No common priest the covering frail 

May lift to scan its depths or glories. 

For feelings lie beyond the reach, 

The softest, tenderest touch of mortal, 

That cannot don the robe of speech, 
Nor pass the spirit's outer portal. 



72 SYMPATHY. 



A little way along life's path 

Friends come, not leading, following rather ; 
For unto them the Master saith, 

" Thus far ye may go, and no farther." 

Thus far, — it is the clasp of hand, 
The tone that says, "I also snifer; 

My feet have pressed as cold a strand. 
And trod a pathway lonelier, rougher." 

And this is all. Up the steep sides 

We climb, there is for them no wending; 

And down into the flowing tides 

And hidden depths there 's no descending. 

Who leans his strength upon the reed, 
The broken reed of human feeling. 

Will find within his sorest need 

A wound that hath no balm of healing. 

The soul that finds on earth no rest, 
No heart to share its choicest treasure. 

Must seek that higher, stronger breast 

Whose heights and depths she cannot measure. 



TO MY SEWING NEEDLE. 

I NEVER loved thee. In my earlier days 
I scorned and shunned thee. To my childish gaze 
Thy skilful nimbleness and shining form 
No beauty brought, no potency or charm; 
I only viewed thee, spurning all thy pleas, 
Sworn foe to freedom, idleness, and ease. 

But thou hast clung to me in spite of all. 

Like a true friend, who minds not change or fall ; 

I have not found — existence never gave — 

More ready, willing, and obedient slave; 

And somehow I have come to look at thee. 

If not with pleasure, with complacency. 

It may be as the gallej^-slave has learned 
Something of love for toil that once he spurned ; 
Or as a man, condemned for life to dwell 
A prisoner, grows in time to like his cell. 
Many the things 'tis wise to take in gross — 
Few feelings can be analyzed too close. 



74: TO MY SEWING NEEDLE. 



I ought to love thee. Thou hast ever been 
To sorrowing woman near as blood in kin; 
And many an hour of anguish hast thou whiled, 
As back and forward thou hast flashed and smiled, 
Bringing sweet memories and pleasant thought, 
As fair and graceful figures thou hast wrought. 

Thou hast from Nature borrowed light and shade, 
Hast many an ancient battle-scene portrayed; 
Wrought banners men were proud to wave on high, 
Decked castle walls with gorgeous tapestry ; 
The transient, perishing of earth engraved, 
And noble deeds and words of wisdom saved. 

Thou hast filled homes ^vith plenty ; thousands wait 
On thee, as mendicants at castle gate ; 
Thou hast the naked clothed, the hungry fed, 
Adorned the blushing bride, and robed the dead; 
And worlds of might work by thine unseen aid. 
Since thou by Dorcas hast been sacred made. 

O power so small and silent, yet so strong, 
And wonder-working of the laboring throng, 
Still be thy might, thy glory, felt and known. 
And, in the van of life, still hold thy own; 



TO MY SEWING NEEDLE. 75 



Still keep tliine ancient place at home and hearth, 
Among the least, yet mightiest of the earth. 

For long as thou dost there in honor reign. 

The world may place her glittering baits in vain; 

As long as thou dost in thy patience toil, 

A might remains the tempter's power to spoil; 

As long as thou dost help her to endure, 

No charm can woman from lier place allure. 



LIFE'S LESSONS. 

SPREAD o'er a page our sorrowing tears have 
blurred, 

Whose letters we know not bj sight or sound, 

Whose syllables, so oddly, strangely bound. 
Make up an unintelligible w^ord 
We vainly strive in memory to hoard. 

And whose design and beauty, use and end, 
(Of which, as foreign things, we may have heard). 

Our childish spirits fail to comprehend. 
Sometimes unwittingly, as breathed upon 

By inspiration, we may rightly call 
A single letter, or, with sigh and moan. 

Upon a proper word may chance to fall; 
But ere one half the meaning has been learned, 
A newer and a harder page is turned. 



THE PEESENT. 

WHY need we to the dim, dark Past recede, 
And search her record for soul sth-ring deed, 
When so much in the teeming Present lies 
To animate our hearts, and fill our eyes ? 

Why need we seek to taint and soil our page 
With horrors that disgraced a former age; 
Or drag again, as curious things, to light 
The sins it were more wise to hide from sight, — 

When Time reveals no hour, and earth no place. 
Where Crime shows not her bold, unblushing face ; 
And our sad Present bears enough, — enough 
To crowd the page of warning and reproof ? 

Why search the darkness of a vanished night. 
Or trace the glimmers of a dawning light. 
When o'er our clearer path and higher way 
Shines the full radiance of perfected day ? 



78 THE PRESENT. 



Why need we bid the quiet, sleeping dead 
Again for us their bloody paths re-tread, 
When bolder heroes through as loud a din, 
Still walk the earth, still nobly strive and win ? 

No fires are kindled now, no stakes are driven. 
To horrify the earth and insult heaven ; 
But still, unseen, the life-drops trickle down, 
And suffering earns to-day a martyr's crown ! 

Earth's future heroes, glorious and wise. 

Are given to our imconscious hearts and eyes ; 

And heaven's blest angels, through the shades and 

glooms. 
Walk by our sides, and dwell within our homes. 

We strive to grope into the shadowed Past, 
Or o'er the Future our dim light to cast. 
And let the present, freighted full, slip by. 
Without one throb of heart, one glance of eye. 

Time dulls the sinking echoes of the Past, 
While o'er the Future Mercy's veil is cast; 
And our short sight of life can see no more 
Than a few steps behind, a few before. 



THE PRESENT. 7\) 



Oh, could we view our lives, our days aright. 
How would our hearts enkindle at the sight ! 
How would w^e droop, or lift our beaming eyes. 
To see how low we fall, how high might rise ! 



THE GIFTS OF LOVE. 

SHE gave not much, as counts the world, 
A little here and there; 
A few small coins, a crust of bread, 
A softly whispered prayer. 

She gave a kindly smile, a word 

Of comfort and of cheer; 
A silent, loving clasp of hand, 

A sympathizing tear. 

Blessed like the widow's mites, those coins 
Unclosed wealth's grasping hand; 

Opened a gushing fount that spread 
Wide o'er the thirsty land. 

That kindly smile, that cheering word, 

Fell on a breaking heart; 
And closed and bound a wound unseen. 

And healed a secret smart. 



THE GIFTS OF LOVE. 

That gentle, loving clasj^ wliicli said, 

"Look up, O sister mine," 
Drew from the clutch of death a soul 

That shall in glory shine. 

That whispered prayer, unheard on earth, 

So faintly was it given, 
Kose on tlie spirit-wings of faith, 

And mov^ed the throne of heaven. 

Such were her gifts; — and half their worth 

By words can ne'er be told ; 
Nor is earth wise enougli to heed. 

Or large enongh to hold. 



81 



IN MEMORIAM. 

FAREWELL !— I will not weep that thou 
Art resting with the blessed now ; 
Or that the Father's wise design 
Hath made thy path more short than mine. 

Farewell ! — a stronger than om- love 
Hath borne thee to thy home above; 
And though the world may be less fair, 
Heaven is more dear since thou art there ! 



MY DEAD. 

ICOUI^T nut those among my dead 
(Though from my sight and presence fled) 
Whom, safe beyond the reahns of change, 
No time, no mortal, can estrange; 
Their love and trust but brighter shine 
Whom death has made for ever mine. 

They are my dead who, living yet. 
Make life one long and sad regret; 
Who, false to every memory. 
Still walk the earth, more dead to me 
Than if, with chilling, threatening mien. 
The cold, damp grave were walled between. 

They are my dead — the vanished years 
I mourn with unavailing tears ; 
The long-fled joyous years that seem 
Like pleasant tale, or beauteous dream; 
The full-pressed, teeming years that hold 
Treasures ungathered and untold. 



84 MY DEAD. 



They are my dead — the hopes that sprung 
In life's glad morning strong and young; 
Yet nurtured with the tenderest care, 
They faded like earth's bright and fair; 
Perished, as sink into the grave 
Whom neither love nor skill can save. 

Uncovered to the gazer's eye. 

Behold my dead unburied lie; 

Like men, unshriven and unbless'd, 

They cannot sleep in peaceful rest. 

But loud above life's whirl and din. 

They mock me with, " It might have been." 

O Time, these dead, so cold and white, 
Help me to bury from my sight; 
Bury tlie mocking hopes and years. 
Bury in silence, and in tears ; 
Bury them deep — they were too bright; 
Bury them deep — far out of sight! 



WHAT SHE COULD. 

"She hath doi e what she could." 

I CANNOT seek my Father's house, 
And in His temple pray ; 
But in this quiet room my heart 
May silent homage pay. 

I cannot toil as others do 

Along the world's broad mart; 

But where He placed me I can stand, 
With patient, watcliful heart. 

1 cannot open wide my hand 
Whene'er tlie suffering plead ; 

But I can bear their woes to Him 
Who doth the sparrows feed. 

And when the whole is measured by 
Not what I did^ but would, 

It may be He will say of me, 

"She hath done what she could." 



II K B E L I E F. 

^nniS strange when God throws wide His door 
-L And lets the needy suppliant in, 

Declaring he who asks shall have, 
And he who strives shall surely win. 

We do not oftener seek that door. 

And freely ask and plead for more. 

And strange that, after we have prayed. 
And after God has heard our prayer. 

And angels to our waiting hearts 
The Father's ready message bear, 

We marvel He should answ^er make, 

And scarcely will the blessing take. 

O fools, and slow^ of heart to trust 
And feel His tenderness and power ! 

O fools, and slow^ to rest upon 

The strength that is a mighty tower ! 

Afraid the promise to believe. 

Afraid the blessing to receive ! 



SPEKO, CKEDO, FIDO. 

I CANNOT tell maiis labored proofs 
In subtile, rare device, 
Of the Unseen, Eternal One, 

The Soul of mysteries. 
The creature the Creator shows : 
I am — therefore He is. 

I know not how Jehovah could 

With men in converse be ; 
Nor ask of that recorded word 

A learned proof to see : 
I am too glad to think that God 

Has given a book to me. 

I cannot tell how mercy may 

Justice and law survive ; 
Nor comprehend how Jesus' death 

Eternal life can give : 



88 



I only know that He hath said, 
"Look unto Me and live." 

I know not how a dying breath, 

A human, sin-stained plea, 
Can span the space 'twixt man and God, 

And alter heaven's decree ; 
But I have heard the Father's word, 

" In trouble call on Me." 

I know not how life's ceaseless ills 

Can blessings antedate; 
Nor how the bitter will be sweet. 

And crooked places straight; 
'Tis written, " All will work for good 

To those who love and wait." 

I cannot tell where heaven may be, 

l^ov what its glories are; 
Save that it waits the faithful soul. 

And God and Christ are there ; 
And that the happy spirits rest 

From sin, and death, and care. 



SPERO, CREDO, FIDO. 89 



For secret things belong to God, 

And not to finite dust; 
And high as hmnan mind may soar. 

It owns the wisdom just 
That veils the deepest, and to man 

Gives hope, belief, and trust. 



VOICE OF THE DYING. 

WEEP not for me ! 
I am the captive sighing 
One glimpse of warm, reviving life to see ; 

And this cold, hideous thing that ye call dying. 
Is but the welcome friend that sets me free. 

Weep not for me ! 
I am the traveller weary. 
Who o'er rough seas and deserts wild has come ; 

And dreaming yet of pathways long and dreary, 
With transport sees the gleaming lights of home. 

Weep not for me ! 
I am the sick one longing 
For one brief respite from pain's ceaseless strife ; 

Who in one moment through the visions thronging 
Sees in her grasp eternal health and life. 



VOICE OF THE DYING. 91 



Rejoice for me ! 
Mj path was rougli and dreary; 
Faint was my heart, and torn my aching feet; 

Life's burden pressed me sore, and I was weary ; 
The rest our Father gives is long and sweet. 

Rejoice for me ! 

Even now do I behold Him 
Whom I have loved, whom I have sought so long; 

Even now my eager, spirit-arms enfold Him, 
And these dull ears have caught the angel song. 

Rejoice for me ! 
When ceased the labored watching, 
Ye fold the hands above my painless breast; 

And nevermore the low, faint whisper catching. 
Ye close the weary eyes in endless rest. 

Rejoice for me ! 
When o'er the hillock bending, 
Where toil is not, and peace and stillness dwell. 

And holy thought is ever heavenward wending. 
Ye 'say with quiet heart, " She sleepeth well." 



THE CAPTIVE. 

WITHm his grated cell, 
A captive sat and sighed; 
His skeleton hand, like a shadow, fell 

On the tasteless crust at his side. 
His hair was damp with the prison mould, 

His eye was hollow and wild; 
And the arm that once could giants fell 
Was weaker than a child. 

He, in that cell, for years 

Had waited, watched, and prayed. 
Till, numb alike to hopes and fears. 

He asked and wished no aid. 
A breathing corpse within a tomb ' 

No eye but heaven's could see ; 
All that he heard was his keeper's step, 

And the turn of the iron key. 

Yet was there something that bound 
His senses still to earth: 



THE CAPTIVE. 93 



To the world of action, light and sound, 

Of happiness and mirth. 
A tiny sunbeam daily came 

From its home of joy and bliss; 
And stole, as a living thing, to his side, 

And fell on his cheek like a kiss. 

He watched and watched it fall 

Down through the rusty grate; 
He saw it climbing o'er the w^all. 

And o'er his fettered feet. 
It sweetly spoke of bright green fields, 

Of trees, and cool, clear stream ; 
It said there was light and hope on earth. 

Aye, light and hope for him. 

Was he forgotten ? No ; 

Fond eyes had long been dim ; 
True hearts had shared his every throe. 

And lips had prayed for him. 
But Evil can rule with iron hand, 

And Hatred is bitter and strong ; 
And what is the might of a woman's love 

Against the power of Wrong ? 



94 THE CAPTIVE. 



The captive raised his eye 

To greet his sunny friend, 
And breathed for it the latest sigh 

His weary soul might send. 
It came at last; and his eye grew bright 

Watching its noiseless tread ; 
But when it reached the pallid cheek, 

It lighted the face of the dead ! 



Weep not for him who lieth 

On fields where fame is won ; 
But weep for him who dieth 

A thousand deaths in one. 
Aye, weep for him that languisheth 

Where hope may never come ; 
Who, drop by drop, gives up his life 

For liberty and home. 



UNEECOMPE]^SED. 

While Hope remained, I lived, I toiled ;— 
Hope fled, life was of all despoiled 
That gave it worth. 

T DID not weep when Vandal hands 
-L My treasures bore away; 
Nor when I saw the lurid flames 

My home in ashes lay ; 
But on tlie ruin gazed, and said, 

" O native Land, for thee 
Far more than this I'd gladly bear, 

If thou may'st yet be free." 

I did not weep when sorrowing men, 

With slow and measured tread, 
Brought back the strong man of my house, 

To lay him with his dead; 
But stilled the throbbing of my heart, 

And stifled down the sigh. 
And said, " Tis great and glorious 

For one's own land to die." 



96 UNRECOMPENSED. 



And when the bitter ending came, 

And all was given and lost, 
And I was like a severed leaf 

By wind and tempest toss'd, 
I gathered up my strength, and said, 

"The future yet remains. 
And in her opening hands are laid 

Strong, honest Labor's gains." 



But, when I felt the bitterness 

Of unrequited toil. 
And saw the base and wicked rise, 

Bich with the orphan's spoil; 
When starving children cried for bread. 

And there was none to give. 
And all the weak were trampled down. 

Just that the strong might live: 



When every coming year disclosed 
More labor and less gain, 

And life was but another name 
For weariness and pain; 



UNEECOMPENSED. 97 



When love at deatli bequeathed to love 

Such heritage of. woe, 
The tears that Hope so long had stayed 

Despah' allowed to flow! 



ANIMUS VIVIT. 

WHAT though they level down each grave, 
Each character defame ? 
Blot from recording History's page 

Each grand, heroic name? 
Honor shall bear aloft their palm. 
And Song shall every deed embalm. 

What thongh from every Southern field 

They raze each hallowed stone ? 
And scatter to the raging storms 

Each bleaching rebel bone ? 
Memory will still her treasures keep, 
And Love will find a place to weep. 

« 
For men may bend the lightning's course, 

And check the flowing wave ; 
May teach the winds to do their will. 

The subtile light enslave; 
But feeling was not made to be 
The passive tool of tyranny. 



ANIMUS VIYIT. 99 



Wherever base Oppression ruled, 
Or outraged Freedom cried; 

Or helpless innocence was wronged, 
Is where they would have died. 

And there will we, lamenting, stand, 

With weeping voice, and lifted hand. 

We need no sculptured stone to keep 
The name of son and sire; 

Our hearts shall bear their epitaphs 
In characters of fire ; 

And Memory will be the grave 

That holds the relics of the ].)rave ! 



THE SOUTHEEK CONFEDEKACY. 

LIKE a lioness roused by the tramping of foe. 
Like the pent waters bursting in wild, sudden 
glow; 
Like a city grown up in the darkness of night. 
Like a star in full glory, it rose on our sight. 

Like the path of a vessel swift cleaving the seas, 
Like the love of the birds that is told to the breeze ; 
Like the glittering ice-jewels on sun-lighted spray. 
Like youth's visions of beauty, it vanished away. 

'Twas resistance aroused by the shriek of alarms ; 
It was courage defying the terror of arms ; 
It was manhood defending the altar and hearth ; 
It was liberty seeking a home upon earth. 

It had fervor and zeal, — it had daring and youth ; 
It had justice, and reason, and honor, and truth; 
It had battles and sieges, and glory's red wreath. 
It had waiting, and watching, starvation, and death. 



THE 80UTHEKN CONFEDERACY. 101 



And its fall was the terrible crushing of right, 
The triumph of envy, and hatred, and might; 
The folding of hands that could struggle no more. 
The spread wings of freedom forsaking our shore. 

Let it rest in the slumber no horror can break ; 
Let it rest with the heroes who died for its sake; 
With the grandeur no failure, no foe can o'ercast. 
Let it rest in the hallowing tomb of the past. 

As over the hill-tops, the valleys, and plains, 
Though the sun hath departed, a glory remains. 
So over its ruin and wreck may be seen 
A splendor that shows to the world what has been. 

As the pierced spirit calls for some moments to slied 
In secret its drops o'er the loved and the dead, 
Even thus do we give unto what was so dear, 
(3ne day for a thought, — for a sigh, — and a tear. 

We might think it a dream, — but for hearts that are 

broken, 
For high places still vacant, — for yon marble token > 



102 THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY. 



We might think it ne'er was — ^l^ut for freemen now 

slaves, 
For homes laid in ashes, — for wounds, — and for 

graves. 

For we gave not our own — it was wrested away ; — 
We bartered no rights — and we glory to-day 
That we stood by the land that we could not deliver. 
And onr swords drank life-blood ere they laid down 
for ever! 



THE SOUTH. 

WE loved her when she sat queen among nations, 
A crown of glory on her radiant brow ; 
Kich with the incense of world-adolations, 

And strong in powers that right and truth endow. 

When o'er her blooming plains and shining waters 
Plenty and Wealth swept on with even tide ; 

When noble-hearted sons and beauteous daughters 
Made glad her thousand homes of joy and pride: 

When the Past gave no echoing sound of sorrow, 
The happy Present banislied care away; 

And the wislied Future was the glad To-morroAv, 
That lengthened and intensified To-day. 

But more, far more, when with just indignation. 
At but the thought of cherished rights o'erthrown. 

She rose against a vaunting usurpation. 

And dared assert, and dared to claim, her own: 



104 THE SOUTH. 



When to the holj God of heaven appealing, 

She bared her breast to meet a murdering sword, 

And with life-blood her words and actions sealing, 
Lost all she prized and songht, gained all she feared. 

Yet more we love her as in desolation 

She mourns her name, her rights, her children gone, 
And breathes but one wild wail of lamentation, 

Whose depth of agony might move a stone. 

As the fond mother, who, when health is flowing 
In red, rich streams, but little heeds her child. 

Finds warmer love and stronger feeling glowing, 
If suffering blight where late enjoyment smiled, — 

So with hearts throbbing with a tenderer yearning, 
We gaze upon our prostrate, stricken land ; 

And with a deeper, wilder passion burning. 
Sad, tireless watchers at her side we stand. 

Dearer her cj[ui\'ering form all scarr'd and gory, 
And faint with strife against a world of foes; 

Dearer a thousand times her touching story 
Of unexampled sufferings, deeds, and woes. 



THE SOUTH. 



105 



And we are learning, like the liope-forsaken, 
To speak of her, our loved, onr prized, our own. 

Softly, as names of those whom death has taken, 
Are only hreathed with low and reverent tone. 



MISSION OF SONG. 

EARTH was not banned to angels ; myriad forms 
Speed here and tliere, on heavenly mission 
sent. 
Eartli was not cursed for them; its scathing storms 

Break not the even calm of their content. 
Tireless and swift on wings of wind they go, 
Nor other will than His who sent them know. 

A thousand forms are 'round us; — noiseless feet 
Keep measured pace with ours o'er thorny wastes ; 

Eyes that we see not our dim glances meet, 

And strength, unsought, to our assistance hastes; 

Hands that we feel not our worn lingers take, 

And voices speak as never mortal spake. 

One hath long walked with us; was with the stars 
That sang together when creation woke; 

And close to man, through all life's shocks and jars. 
Hath made more strong his heart, more light his 
yoke. 



MISSION OF SONG. 107 



We know not, ask not, if slie may belong 

To earth or heaven; but we have called her Song. 

Slie hath a holy mission ; it is hers 

To speed o'er every land, and clim^e, and race, 
And rescue from oblivion, change, and years, 

The nol)le and sublime of every age and place. • 
When marble falls, and crumbles into dust. 
Song, living Song, shall guard with care her trust. 

She loves to dwell with Nature ; slie hath lent 

Her voice to wind, and bird, and stream, and sea; 

There is no spot o'er which she hath not bent, 
No space she hath not filled with melody ; 

To listening ear there is no sound but brings 

Some echo from her harp of thousand strings. 

Through her Passion finds words, Love whispers soft, 
Angei" and Hatred rage, and Sorrow weeps; 

Through her Devotion quickens, soars aloft, 

Hope brighter smiles, and Faith more steadfast 
keeps. 

Spirit communes with spirit, and hearts speak, 

That else, all otlier voice denied, would break. 



108 MISSION OF SONG. 



Lands have no history that have no song; 

Their heroes lie forgotten in their graves ; 
No hving voice awakens in tlieir young 

The emulating zeal that dares and braves: 
The thought ungarnered and the deed unsung 
Are treasures to the winds and waters flung. 

She is the baffler of decay and time, 

The wielder of a weapon keen and strong ; 

The bold discloser of high-seated crime ; 
The dreaded foe of tyrants and of wrong: 

Oppression's power all right may crush — deny; — 

But truth embalmed by Song can never die. 

Well should roe love thee ; we, the tempest-toss'd, 
Bereft of name and country ; we, who cast 

Our all on one wild, fearful throw, and lost 
All but the waning memory of the past: 

We give thee, nol)le and high-minded Song, 

Our name, our deeds, our suffering, and our wrong. 

Guard thou our unmarked dead ; watch o'er their dust. 
Embalm their actions, and their honor keep; 



MISSION OF SONG. 109 



Tell how they fought and died with imdimmed trust 
In God and Right, and with th' unconijuered sleep ; 
Thy sweetest, softest, saddest notes belong 
To her who has no history but — Song. 



OUR FALLEN BEAYE. 

[for memorial day.] 

THEY lie 'neath many a marble shaft, 
Our noble, fallen brave ; 
They lie on many a battle-field. 
In many an unmarked grave. 
They lie, by Honor guarded safe, 

Li peaceful, dreamless rest; 
They lie by every valiant heart 
And patriot spirit bless'd. 



They come on this Memorial Day, 

They haunt the very air. 
With scenes long passed, with forms long stilled. 

With words and deeds that were. 
They come to mourning household liands, 

They come in heart and thought ; 



OUR FALLEN BRAVE. Ill 



They come in struggles tliey have made, 
In battles they have fought; 

They come, — and living voices speak 
Their names and deeds once more; 

We give a flower, — a sigh, — and then 
Memorial Day is o'er. 

O children dear, who never saw 

The old Confederate gray ; 
Who never saw our soldiers march 

AVith flag and dnnn away ; 
Who never saw the dead brought l)ack, 

The wounded line the street; 
Who never heard the cannon's roar. 

Nor tramp of victor feet; 
Keep as a holy trust this day 

To their remembrance true, 
Who, sorely tried, were faithful found. 

And fought and bled for you ! 

That so, though dead, they still shall live, 
Live on, as year by year, 



112 OUR FALLEN BRAVE. 



This day recalls the memories 

So sacred and so dear. 
Live on tliougli ages o'er them roll ; 

Live on in flower-wreathed grave ; 
Live on in hearts that cherish still 

Our own, our fallen l^rave! 



THE NEW SOUTH. 

SHE hath lifted her liead, she hath Loosened her 
bands, 
She hath cast away ease from her life and her hands ; 
She hath put on her strength, like a robe, and come 

forth, 
She will take her own place with the nations of earth. 

Though her body hath laid as the ground and the 

street, 
And the crown of her pride hath been trodden hy 

feet. 
She will rise, she will shine from a loftier height. 
With a crown of new glory, a star of new light. 

She hath wealth in her waters, and wealth in her 

lands. 
And her fate and her destiny lie in her hands; 
She hath muscle to labor, and skill to secure. 
She hath boldness to venture, and strength to endure. 



114 THE NEW SOUTH. 



As the mother forgets not her child that is dead, 
Though his grave is unknown, and his name is not 

said. 
So her lost she remembers, — aye, clasps them to-day. 
And deep in her bosom she hides them aw^ay. 

She hath buried her past in the silence of years, 
She hath turned her for ever from mourning and 

tears ; 
She hath shouldered the burden no love can make 

light, 
And hath brought to the conflict her daring and 

might. 

Will she win ? — J ust as sure as the storm-beaten tree 
Kises firmer, and stronger, and grander, will she; 
Just as sure as she holds with a grip hard and tight, 
As hei* fathers before her, truth, honor, and right. 

Her foes may malign her, may laugh at, and sneer, 
But through all, like a ship o'er the waves, will she 

steer ; 
And the breath of detra(;tion shall over her pass. 
As harmless as shadow of cloud o'er the grass. 



THE WEW SOUTH. 115 



As the string that is stretched gives more clearly its 

sound, 
As in flowers that are crushed sweetest perfume is 

found ; 
As after the tempest come sunshine and calm, 
And after the battle the laurel and palm, — 

So clearer, and sweeter, and brighter will she 
Shine out of her gloom, like a star o'er the sea; 
So on her will sunshine and calmness come down, 
So glory and honor her struggles shall crown. 

She will rise as the metal refined by the fire. 
As a spirit sore chastened, made purer and higher; 
From the woes of her past will a grandeur be born. 
As the tears of the eve make the gems of the morn ! 



LIISTES OF LIFE. 

IT was not smooth — the path that God 
Appointed unto me ; 
Nor always pleasant — but it led 
Where He would have me be. 
And if I felt alone the thorns, 

And failed the flowers to greet, 
It was because I icould not see 
The l^lossoms at my feet. 

The cup presented to my lips, — 

The cup designed for all — 
Most strangely, skilfully was mixed 

With honey and with gall. 
And though my tongue no sweet could taste. 

My heart no good could guess, 
Yet now I know that strength was hid 

Within its bitterness. 

Kor was it only light that fell 
Across my onward path ; 



LINES OF LIFE. llT 



But darkness deep, that seemed to me 

A harbinger of wrath. 
Yet over all this truth still shone 

Like silvery lining clear, 
That only in a cloud can God 

To fallen man draw near. 

Thus thorn and flower, bitter and sweet. 

Glad sunshine and dark shade. 
With skilful weavings in and out, 

A checkered life have made. 
Only the taught of God may see 

How evenly they blend, 
And the Divine, the glorious plan, 

Begin to comprehend. 

Then, looking ba(jk on what lias been. 

Or on to what may be, 
Be still, my heart, and calmly wait 

The blessed whole to see. 
And may this lowly, humbling thought 

Bid every murmur flee, — 
The good is more, the evil less 

Than is deserved by me. 



"THY WILL BE DONE." 

W HEIST all my days were bright, and life 
With radiant joy and hope was rife ; 
And all I asked, and all I sought, 
As if on angel wing was brought: 
How easy then Thy power to own. 
And cheerful say, " Thy will be done." 

But when Thy hand pressed on me sore. 
With weight I never felt before ; 
When sorrow and affliction came. 
And death brought in a fearful claim. 
And took my best and dearest one, 
I could not say^ "Thy will be done." 

'Tis hard to think that good can spi-ing 
From such an evil, bitter thing; 
'Tis hard to think that it can be 
The hand of Love thus laid on me ; 
And hard to see my hopes o'er thrown. 
And yet to say, " Thy will be done." 



THY WILL BE DONE. 119 



Thy heavenly grace Thou must impart, 
Thy Spu-it breath upon this heart, 
And every quivering pulse must thrill 
With Thy soft whisper, " Peace, be still," 
Ere I can turn each weary moan 
Into the words, " Thy will be done." 

I can but bring to Thee my grief, 
And cry, "Lord, help my unbelief!" 
I can but at Thy footstool stay, 
Till Thou shalt teach my heart to say, 
With upward glance and childlike tone. 
And patient trust, " Thy will be done." 



HE LEADETH ME. 



Psalm xxiii. 2. 



SOMETIMES through pleasant shades, 
By softly murmuring streams; 
Along sweet-scented glades, 
Lighted by golden beams: 
And He who walks beside me there, 
Makes all its loveliness more fan*. 

Sometimes o'er thorn}^ ways. 

That w^ound and pierce my feet; 

And danger 'round me plays. 
And tempests o'er me beat: 

Though never path so dark and dread, 

I do but follow in His tread. 

Sometimes through blazing fires 
That singe, and scorch, and burn, 

Lifting their lurid spires 
Whichever way I turn : 



HE LEADETH ME. 121 



Yet throngli the hottest flames I see 
The same dear Hand that leadeth me. 

Sometimes through raging streams, 
That lash, and fright, and chill; 

Where echo wakes wild screams, 
That numbing senses thrill: 

Yet is He ever at my side 

Whose voice can still the raging tide. 

He leads, whose tender love 
My yearning heart enfolds ; 

He guides, who leads above. 
And as He guides, upholds: 

I follow — though I see no more 

Than one short footstep just before. 

He leads, who ruleth all : 
He guides, who never errs: 

With Him, how can I fall ? 
Or how give place to fears ? 

All faith in self for ever gone, 

I trust in Him, and am led on. 



MY SAYKJUE. 

EARTHLY friends with bliss siuTound me, 
Love's own air T gently breathe ; 
Beauties new, above, around me. 
Their beguiling witcheries wreathe ; 
But their temp tings, 
Sweet, soft temptings, 
On me vainly, coldly fall ; 
For my Saviour, 
My own Sa\dour, 
Is more fair, more dear than all. 



They can ])itterly deceive me. 

They can promise and not give ; 
In my darkest hours they leave me, 
Hopelessly alone to grieve ; 
In my sorrow, 
Pain and sorrow, 



MY SAVIOUK. 123 



They have naught that can avail; 
But my Saviour, 
My strong Saviour, 

Cannot leave me, cannot fail. 



He is all my joy, my pleasure, 

All my might, my hope, my trust 
Here my soul's abiding treasure. 
Firm and faithful, true and just; 

In the future. 

Dim, dark future. 
He is all the light I see; 

O my Saviour, 

My dear Saviour, 
Heaven is nothing without Thee! 



When I see my strength departing. 

Like the early morning dew; 
Waves of anguish o'er me starting. 
And earth gliding from my view 
No cold doubting, 
Fear or doubting. 



124 MY SAVIOUE. 



Tlien shall dim my closing eje; 
On my Saviour, 
My dear Saviour, 

I will calmly rest and die. 

In the world of bliss above me, 
With unending joys in store; 
With the spirits pure that love me. 
And the selfsame Lord adore. 

There in safety. 

Rest and safety, 
From all sin, all sorrow free, 

O my Saviour, 

My dear Saviour, 
May I ever live with Thee ! 



COME UNTO ME. 

St. Matthew xi. 28. 

AET thou weary ? Woiildst tliou rest ? 
Come, and lean upon this breast; 
Come, and find a place with Me, 
Long ago prepared for thee. 



Art thou thirsty ? From the brink 
Of destruction turn, and drink 
Of the water I will give, 
And thou shalt for ever live. 



Art thou on doubt's billows toss'd, 
All thy charts, th}^ reckoning lost ? 
Come, to Me thy woes confide ; 
Come, and I will be thy Guide. 



126 COME UNTO ME. 



Dost thou fear the chilling breath 
Of the mighty conqueror, Death ? 
Come, with Me there is no strife,^ 
Come, I am eternal life. 



Come, I long have sought for thee ; 
Come, unending bliss foresee; 
Come, thy highest powers employ, 
Come, and till the heavens with 



]«J- 



OUR CUP AND BAPTISM. 

" Ye shall drink iiidffd of My cup, rind be baptized witli the baptism 
I am baptized with.''— 5i. Matthew xx. 23. 



W 



E dream of the triumph, we speak of the crown, 
We look for the harvest, we long to lie down 
With the martyrs and saints who hav^e passed on be- 
fore, 
And are safe with their palms on the "bright, shining 
shore." 

We forget the long labor, the race, and the cross. 
The hnngerings, the thirstings, the wanderings, the 

loss; 
We forget the stern charge when He marshalled ns 

forth, 
And we ask onr reward and our rest upon earth. 

But He told us, " The cup that I drink ye must drain ; 
Ye must taste of tlie anguish, the bitter, the pain ; 



128 OUR CUP AND BAPTISM. 



Ye have asked in My might and My glory to share, 
But My sorrow, and suffering, and shame, can ye 
bear ?" 

Oh! measure the distance, weigh justly the cost; 

Go over the reckoning, or all may be lost; 

For the scourge must be felt, and the cross must be 

borne. 
Ere the throne can be gained, or the crown can be 

worn. 

He told us of treasures, of blessings, of gains, 
And He told of bereavements, of struggles, and pains; 
He spake of a rest, and a comfort in store ; 
But the rest is to come when the conflict is o'er. 

Then more of the cross, and less of the crown ! 
Lcng more for the struggle, and less to lie down; 
Not always the rest and the end are in view, 
But He who hath promised is faithful and true ! 



THE WOED OF GOD. 

" Thy word have I hid in my heart." — Psalm cxix. 11. 
" How sweet are Tliy words.''— Paalm cxix. 103. 

OlSfE word of my God in the morning, 
Wiien the labors of life must be done ; 
One strong, quickening word of the Father, 

That my spirit may feed upon. 
Let me hear then the voice that sayeth, 

"This is the path and the way;" 
Let me see the clear light tliat shineth 

Brighter and brighter each day : 
That my feet may not stumble or falter 

Li pathways untried and untrod, 
And my soul go forth to the conflict 

£(ji nipped with the armor of God. 

One word of my God in the noon-day; 

When, weary of struggling with sin. 
The shield of my faith is all tarnished. 

And my spirit is fainting within. 



130 THE WOKD OF GOD. 



Let me lieur that Jehovah still reigneth 

Unchanged and unchanging above; 
And no power that darkness engenders, 

His throne eternal can move: 
That my faith and my hope may be brightened, 

And my spirit again grow strong 
In the thought of the patient long-suffering 

Of God, that alloweth the wrong. 

One word of my God in the evening : 

Ere forgetfulness steal o'er my frame, 
Let the day's last wliispering echo 

The One, Omnipotent Name. 
Let me read of the beautiful city. 

Of the rest that remaineth above. 
When my soul, like a child that is weary. 

Is yearning for comfort and love : 
That my sleep may be deeper and sweetei' 

For thought of the fadeless and fair : 
And my dreams may be of the mansions 

That Jesus hath gone to prepare. 



COMF GET ABLE AV O E D S. 

"Comfort ye, comfort ye, My people."— /si^/ia/i xl. 1. 

PILGEIM, weary and oppressed, 
Dost thou seek and sigh for rest ? 
Is thy pathway long and drear; 
Full of danger, void of cheer ? 
Eough and thorny though it be. 
Know it is the best for thee. 

JS^ot by fortune, not l)y chance, 
Not by human vigilance, 
Were the w^indings of one hour 
Marked ])y earthly wdsdom's power. 
All was drawn and traced above 
By the heart and hand of Love. 

Jnst the station, good or ill. 
Thou, and thou alone, canst till ; 
Just the sorrow, just the care, 
Just the pleasure thou canst bear ; 
Just heaven's vast and wise design. 
Sad and murmuring soul, is thine. 



132 COMFORTABLE WORDS. 



Not some great, some mighty task, 
Does thy patient Saviour ask; 
Kindly, gently, doth He bear 
With thy weakness, with thy fear; 
Little things He gives to thee, 
Faithful ill that little be. 

In thy sufferings meekly borne, 
In reproach, contempt, and scorn ; 
In the humble round of life 
Spreading peace, and stilling strife ; 
In each thought, and deed, and word. 
Thou may'st glorify thy Lord. 

He hath given to thee a place ; 

See thou fill est it with grace ; 

He hath portioned out thy tasks; 

Patient faithfulness He asks: 

Daily by hope's cheering beam 

Thou may'st bear and work with Him. 

Work with Him ! — transporting thought !- 
Work with Him who wonders wrought! 



COMFORTABLE WOKDS. 133 



Him wliose power all time transcends; 
Him to whom creation bends; 
Work with Him to share above 
In His glory, grace, and love. 

Weary I thei-e is vet a rest, 
Beep, unbroken, perfect, blest! 
Mournei'! there is joy for thee 
Whei-e no grief, no pain can be! 
To tlie faithful sliall be given 
Rest, and joy, and peace — in heaven ! 



WHAT I BELIEVE. 

"Fear not; only believe." — St. 3fark v. 30. 

I DO believe that Jesus did 
Himself an offering give, 
That fully, freely pardoned, I 
Eternally might live. 

1 do believe that He can take 

This tainted heart of sin, 
And purify and make it fit 

For Him to dwell within. 

I do believe that Jesus hears 
My every prayer and plea ; 

And measures not His gifts l)y what 
My poor, weak faith may be. 

I do believe that life, nor deatli, 

Nor any other thing, 
Can separate me from the love 

Of Christ, my Saviour King. 



WHAT I BELIEVE. 135 



I do believe that He hath gone 

A mansion to prepare, 
Within His Father's house, and He 

Will come and take me there. 



I do believe if I endure 
With patience to the end, 

Resisting unto death, that He 
Will sure deliverance send. 

I do believe that as He rose , 
The Urst-frnits of the dead, 

So from the grave I too shall rise 
To Christ, my living Head. 

I do believe I shall the Kino- 

In all His beauty see ; 
And that where'er my Saviour is 

I shall for ever be ! 



IN SICKNESS. 

TASK not why in God's decree 
Tliis weary sickness comes to me ; 
Why days of pain and nights of woe 
With laggard footsteps come and go. 

Whether it be to try my faith 
And patience in His seeming wrath ; 
Or to correct some ill in me 
Only the eye of heaven can see, 

I may not tell ; but this I know, 
'Tis God who thus hath laid me low ; 
God — who hath measured out our days, 
God — just and good in all His ways. 

The Father chasteneth whom He loves, 
And in His chastening pity moves ; 
'Tis for our endless good ; that we 
Sharers of cross and crown may be. 



IN SICKNESS. 137 



No greater comfort can we know 
Than thus to be like Christ below ; 
Suffering with Him; like Him to rise 
Through suffering perfect to the skies. 

Father, I take it. 'Tis from Thee; 
Mingled, like all Thy gifts to me ; 
And if no thanks my lips unclose, 
My heart Thy tender pity knows. 

Oh ! let me, bending to Thy will, 
And trusting Thy great love, lie still : 
So shall these painful moments be 
Strono; cords to draw me nearer Thee. 



THE WORKMAN AND THE METAL. 

"The workman sits at the door of liis furnace, watching the metal 
within. When he fpps hi« own imajre reflected from the molten metal, 
he knows the process is successful, and abatf s the fury of the flames. 

rr^HE workman lights his glowdng fire, 
^L And puts the ore within the bUize, 
And sits beside the furnace door, 
And turns the metal o'er and o'er; 
And when in it his eye can trace 
The clear reflection of his face, 
He knows it pure, and then allays 
The fierceness of the burnino- rays. 



So Jesus lights His glowing fire, 

And puts the soul within the blaze; 
And then beside the furnace door 
He sits and turns it o'er and o'er; 
And w^hen He sees reflected there 
His own sweet image clear and fair. 
He knows the process is complete, 
And lowers the cleansing, melting heat. 



THE WORKMAN AND THE METAL. 139 



Jesus, hotly glows tlie fire! 

I know Thy breath hath fanned the blaze 

1 know Thou art beside the door, 
Looking mj spirit o'er and o'er ; 
Withdraw not Thou the burnino^ heat 
Until tlie process is complete, 

Till every eye in me may trace 
The britrht reflection of Thv face. 



THE PKOMISES OF GOD. 

LIKE the lovely flowers of spring time, gemming 
earth's soft velvet sod, 
Gently breathing full, rich fragrance, come tlie pro- 
mises of God. 

Like stars within the Armament, lighting life's long 

night of sorrow 
With their pure and steady lustre, leading on tiie 

glad to-morrow. 

Like the cool, soft breath of evening, when the heated 

day is done, 
Whispering of the rest that cometh when our race 

of life is run. 

Like dewdrops fresh and cooling on the blighted, 

withered plain, 
Bringing with their liquid touch a living freshness 

back again. 



THE PROMISES OF GOD. 141 



Like a cordial to the fainting, like a staff unto the 

weary, 
Like struggling sunbeams stealing through a prison 

damp and dreary. 

Like all the blessings sent by heaven wherever man 
hath trod; 

Rich, full, and bounteous — open to all — blest pro- 
mises of God ! 

Hands they are stretched out to help us ; voices clear 

and sweet that call us; 
Rocks on which our feet may safely step, though 

hideous depths appal us. 

Suns they are that light and cheer us all life's long 

and cloudy day ; 
Mile-stones that careful, loving hands have placed 

along our way. 

Cool and quiet streamlets flowing from the fountains 

of the blest; 
Green and tranquil islets where the soul may pause 

awhile and rest. 



142 THE PROMISES OF GOD. 



Purer than the pearl j dewdrops, fresher than the 

breath of morning ; 
Sweeter than the scent of flowerets earth's jewelled 

form adorninof. 



•&• 



Softer than tlie airs of summer, brighter than the 

stars of heaven ; 
Hicher than the golden, gorgeous luies that drape 

the couch of even. 

Breathing health, and strength, and freshness, as our 
onward path we plod; 

Full of joy, and hope, and gladness, come the pro- 
mises of God. 

Bless'd be He w^ho hath not left ns without comfort, 
w^ithout hope, 

But hath sent His briglit-winged promises, wide, gen- 
erous doors to ope. 

The holy, glorions promises, raising guilt-stained souls 

from earth; 
Quickening every palsying nerve, giving sweetest 

comfort bii'th. 



THE PROMISES OF GOD. 143 



Lifting lip the fainting spirit, throwing heavenly air 

and breath; 
Healing every wound and sorrow, lighting e'en the 

vale of death. 

As God, eternal, perfect, trne, deep, fathomless, and 

broad. 
For ever sure, — for ever ours, — blessM promises of 

God! 



T E U S T. 

A S the tender parent heareth, 
-^^ Though his hand no gift doth bring, 
When his wayward children, crying, 

Ask some pleasant, harmful thing: 
So our loving heavenly Father 

Sees and hears, but answers not, 
When His wayward children, crying. 

Ask some harmful thing, or lot. 



As the best and happiest children 

Still their bitter cries and woes. 
In the thought so calming, sheltering, 

"Father gives not — Father knows:" 
So the patient, faithful Christian 

Calms the struggle in his breast. 
And his cross and station beareth. 

With " Our Father knoweth best." 



H E A Y E N. 

THEKE'S a city above with its pearly gates, 
Its walls of jasper, and streets of gold ; 
Its great white throne, its river of life. 

And mansions whose glories can never be told. 
To the faithful of earth, that city is given; — 
But city, and mansion, and throne are not heaven. 

There are soft, cooling shades, there are pastures and 
streams. 

There are airs that l)reathe but perfume and life ; 
There's a glory of light that unfadingly gleams. 

And echoes that w^hisper of peace — not strife : 
Where never a cloud o'er the brightness is driven, — 
But pastures, and light, and streams are not heaven. 

There are angels that stand in the presence of God ; 
There are prophets who spake as the Spirit gave 
word ; 
There are martyrs who sealed their faith w^ith their 
blood. 
And saints who rejoiced on earth in the Lord. 



146 HEAVEN. 



All spotless they stand, all washed and forgiven, 
But angels, and prophets, and saints are not heaven. 

There are songs whose melody never shall end ; 

There are crowns that neither press heavy, nor fade ; 
There are harps whose tones all fancy transcend, 

And joys that never a grief can invade; 
Tiiere's a raptnre from which every sorrow is driven. 
But anthems, and harps, and crowns are no.t heaven. 

xlll glorious, and perfect, and pure as they are. 
They still not the spirit, they fill not the heart : 

Still higher it seeks its life-giving air. 

Still struggles and sighs for a nobler part. 

Oh ! something more than these must be given. 

Ere the raptured soul exults in its lieaven. 

For what are tlie cities, the pastures, and streams. 
The angels, the propliets, the crowns, and the 
songs ? 

What is the joy, the radiance that gleams 

Eternal and pnre o'er the numberless throngs ? 

Glorious, and perfect, and fadeless, and fair. 

What are they all if Christ be not there ? 



HEAVEN. 147 



Where the presence of God eternally dwells, 

And the Saviour that lov' ed us is seen and known ; 

Where the glory tliat gleams, and tlie rapture tliat 
swells, 
Are the joys that flow from His favor alone:— 

Where the smile of Jehovah to each one is given, 

Wliere Father, Son, Spirit are, tliere is our heaven ! 



DOUBT AND FAITH. 

DOUBT is tlie nerveless arm that liangs and 
quakes; 
Faith is the hand that reaches forth and takes. 



Doubt is the mist that eartli and heaven can shroud; 
Faith is the undimmed sun above the cloud. 

Doubt is the silent, fearing to begin; 

Faith, the importunate, whose pleadings win. 

Doubt is the pendant, swaying to and fro ; 
Faith is the needle, om* lost path to show. 

Doubt is the rebel who dishonors God ; 
Faith is the subject, yielding to His rod. 

Doubt is the raw recruit, who sin-inks with fright; 
Faith is the long-tried warrior, strong to fight. 



DOUBT AND FAITH. 149 



Doubt asks " How can I know ni)^ prayers are heard !■" 
And Faitli replies, " I trust His gracious word." 

Donbt says, " The promise is too good for me ;" 
Faith answers, " Gifts of kings should kingly be." 

Doubt says, " He lays my honor in the dust ;" 

And Faith, "Though he should slay, yet will I trust." 

Doubt moans, " I strive with tears, but sins abound;" 
Faith says, " In Christ my righteousness is found." 

Doubt fixes on the earth his downcast eye ; 
Faith lifts her clear and steadfast gaze on high. 

Doubt haunts the darkened borders of despair ; 
Faitli soars to regions lofty, pure, and fair. 

Doubt is of troubled and unquiet mien ; 
But Faith is steadfast, tranquil, and serene 

Doubt is of earth, and with the earth must die; 
But Faith shall live, where now she points, on high. 



150 DOUBT AND FAITH. 



O Lord, this blinding, clogging, deadening donl)t, 
As thou of old the demons did, cast out ; 

And let me pray along life's varied path. 
As Thy disciples, " Lord, increase my faitli." 



PKESSING ONWAED. 

"I press toward llie mark for the prize of the hif^h calling of God in 
Christ Jesus." — Fliilijipinns iii. 14. 

OX, on, I press toward the mark. 
On, at the call of God; 
On, through the rough, but heavenward paths 

By holy footsteps trod. 
I hear the words, " If thou endure," 

I feel the shock of strife; 
And see clear shining overhead 
The prize — eternal life. 

The fainting heart may sigh for rest. 

The feet refuse to run; 
Home, kindred, country, fade behind. 

And still the cry is " On ! " 
On, through the flying, whirling days 

Of labor, care, and gain ; 
On, through the laggard, weary hours 

Of suffering and pain. 



152 PRESSING ONWARD. 



On, through the beams of faith and hope, 

On, through despah' and fears; 
On, through the light and smiles of joy. 

On, through the mists of tears. 
On, with the higher, holier zeal 

That dares to live and strive; 
On, till the Judge upon the throne 

His l)lest "Well done!" shall give. 



On, though the world may call me back. 

On, though the way be long; 
The prize to liim who runneth well, — 

The battle to the strong. 
Who falls, but him who looks not up ? 

Who faints, but first lies down ? 
]^ot one, but all may win the race. 

May wear the victor's crown. 



Since time began, till time shall end, 
The tramp of march goes on ; 

The thousand paths the thousand tread 
Will meet at last in one. 



PRESSING ONWARD. 153 



One just Awarder of the prize 
To him that runneth given; 

One race, one struggle, and one goal, 
One God, one home, one heaven! 



THE SAYIOUR FOR ME. 

THEY tell me the Saviour is near nie, 
Xear me, and ready to aid ; 
That He bends from His mansion to hear me, 
Never to scorn or upbraid ; 
But surely my eyes with tears must be dim ; — 
They have sought, but alas! have found not Hira. 

They tell me He speaks to His chosen 

In accents loving and sweet. 
That soften the heart almost frozen. 
Till she rises her Master to greet. 
Ah, me ! that my ear is too heavy to hear 
A speaker so gentle, so miglity, and near. 

They tell me He smiles on the holy. 

And comforts the mourning in heart; 
That He dwells with the humble and lowly. 
His blessing. His peace to impart ; 
But I am not holy, nor humble, nor meek. 
Only weary and lonely, — for such would He seek ? 



THE SAVIOITK FOR ME. 155 



They tell me the Saviour descended 

To ransom the sinful and lost; 
And that guilt, though deep and extended, 
His mercy can never exhaust. 
The dullness and dimness are gone; — I can see 
Tlie Saviour of sinners, the Saviour for me ! 



nSHEES' EYEISTING SONG. 



Oa the shores of the Adriatic Sea it is customary for the wives of 
the fishermen to come down about sunset, and sing a melody. After 
singing the first stanza Ihey listen awhile for the answering strain off 
the water, and con*inue to i^ing and listen till well known voices ct)me 
borne on the tide, telling them that their loved ones are almost home. 



WHEN sunset floods with amber line 
The lovely Adrian shore, 
The fishers' happy wives come down, 

Singing a stanza o'er; 
And listening till across the main 
Is borne to them an answering strain. 



How sweetly to the fisherman, 
Fainting with toil, must come 

At eve those dear familiar notes 
From the loved ones at home ! 

How strong they make his weary hand, 

Striving to reach the distant land ! 



fishers' evening song. 157 



And thus in life's still eventide 

The blessed spirits come, 
Singing to us angelic songs, 

Singing of rest and home ; 
And listening at the golden gate, 
The J for the faint earth-echoes wait. 

And thus do wearv, toilino; ones. 

Their hours of labor o'er, 
At even turn their longing eyes 

Towards the shining shore ; 
Thus hear familiar voices come, 
Welcoming them to heaven and home. 



I 



JESUS. 

LOVE to read of Jesus, 
Of all He said and taught, 
And of the mighty wonders 

He on the earth hath wrought. 
No story wild and thrilling 

By lip of mortal told. 
Hath ever moved my spirit 
Like that sweet tale of old. 



I love to think of Jesus, 

The true and steadfast Friend, 
Whose love so deep and W(^ndrous 

Can never change or end. 
It warms my faith to action, 

It bids my fears depart ; 
It stays my fainting spirit, 

And rests my weary heart. 



JESUS. 159 



I love to talk of Jesns 

Witli those who know Him well; 
And of His sweet compassion 

In holy converse tell. 
To find how very many 

Adore and love my Lord ; 
And how His grace unfailing 

Comfort and streno^th afford. 



I love to work for Jesiis; 

To feel that all I do 
Is for the heavenly Master, 

Wlio asks a service true. 
My hardest toil is nothing 

To w^hat He did for me; 
Oh ! may I ne'er grow weary 

Of w^orkiug, Lord, for Thee ! 



I soon shall be with Jesus, 
Who sits enthroned above ; 

I soon shall be with Jesus, 
Whom here, unseen, I love. 



160 



JESUS. 



And oh ! the thought that maketh 
The spirit world so fair, 

And floods it o'er with ghjrj, 
Is — Jesus will be there! 



GOD KNOWETH BEST. 

HE took them from me, one by one, 
The things I set my heart upon ; 
They looked so harmless, fair, and blest; — 
Would they have hurt me ? — God knows best. 
He loves me so He would not wrest 
Them from me if it were not best. 

He took them from me, one by one, 

The friends I set my heart upon. 

Oh ! did they come, — they and their love, — ' 

Between me and my Lord above ? 

Were they as idols in my breast ? 

It may be ; — God in heaven knows Ijest. 

I will not say 1 did not weep, 
As doth a child that longs to keep 
The pleasant things in hurtful play 
His wiser parent takes away; 
But in this comfort I will rest — 
He who hath taken knoweth best. 



WORK WHILE IT IS TO-DAY. 

WORK while it is to-day ; 
The hour will pass away ; 
Another's hand will do 
What was designed for you ; 
Another's crown will bear 
The star you ought to wear. 

Work while it is to-day ; 
The need will pass away ; 
The heart that you might soothe, 
The path that you might smooth, 
The soul you might beseech, 
Will be beyond your reach. 

Work while it is to-day; 

' You soon will pass away 

Wliere neither strength nor skill 

Can any work fulfil; 

Or suffering atone 

For that here left undone. 



OUR GIFTS. 

DOES God need aught from us that we should 
make 
Of our poor gifts to Him an offering ? 
We add not to His store, — ^yet doth He look 
With eye of tenderness on what we bring, 
As parents from their children trifles take, 
And hold them ever dear for love's sweet sake. 

I think God's treasuries, w^here He doth keep 

The gifts His children here have brought to Him, 

Will be like many a mother's secret store 
Of relics of her offspring — worn and dim, — 

Full of the things no other heart but hers 

Would comit of value, or look on wdth tears. 

We shall not know them after He hath priced 
Tliem ; as the gentle Mary did not know 

What her anointing was. Within His hands 

Our worthless gifts with heavenly kistre glow, — 

More precious in His eyes than gold or gem. 

For sake of love that He can see in them. 



THY TKOUBLE. 

THY trouble, whatsoe'er it be, 
Know God hath bound it upon thee. 
By special Providence to prove 
And try thy constancy and love ; 
With kindest purpose to reward 
And crown thee as thy faithful Lord. 

The cords that bind thou canst not break, 
And struggling doth them tighter make; 
Tlierefore lie gently down, and take 
What God designs for thy own sake ; 
And suffer thou His hand to do 
As pleaseth Him, the Wise and True. 

Thou canst not see nor understand 
The mystic working of His hand; 
Thou knowest not what ills His love 
Doth painfully from thee remove, 
Nor how His purposes can be 
In any way fulfilled in thee. 



THY TROUBLE. 165 



So count not thou tlij Lord unjust, 
But hold thee still; believe and trust; 
Thou hast, to hush each spirit-wail. 
The promise that can never fail ; 
Thou hast the word of God to tell 
That, in the end it shall be well ! 



THE DEAD IN CHKIST. 

OH ! call tliem not dead — they are not now sleeping 
In the cold earth where we laid them to rest ; 
But while o'er their ashes we Lend, fondly weeping, 
They smile on our tears from the homes of the blest. 

They toiled once below as we are now toiling, 

They suffered and wept as their crosses they bore ; 

But now^ where no tempter may ever come spoiling, 
They rest where they suffer — they sorrow no more. 

Not alone in our anguish and grief have they left us 
To struggle with dangers that compass us here; 

But through the hot trials that mould us and sift us 
They utter sweet whispers of comfort and cheer. 



ST. JAMES' CHUECH.* 

ILO YE this church !— I love to sit 
Within this hallowed place; 
The air, the books, the very walls. 

My flagging spirits brace. 
I love to leave the world Avithout, 

With every care and fear, 
And come in earnest, childlike trnst, 
To feel that God is here. 

Oh ! 'mid the vexing scenes of life. 

Its anxious toil and care. 
How often have I sought this house 

In earnest faith and prayer ! 
This house — where never yet e'er came, 

In anguish and dismay, 
A sorrowing heart in humble trust 

That went unblessed away. 

* Warrenton, Va. 



168 ST. JAMES' CHURCH. 



The holiest memories of my soul 

Are mingled with this place ; 
l^OY time, nor change, nor life, nor death. 

Their record can efface. 
Here, in meek worship, often bowed 

All whom ni}^ heart held dear; 
And all I ever knew of good — 

Of God — was tanght me here. 



Here on mj brow, in infancy. 

The cross of Christ was traced; 
And on my head, in after years, 

A prelate's hands were placed. 
Here have I knelt in humble faith 

Before my Saviour's board. 
And felt, as only here is felt. 

The pardoning peace of God. 



The spirits of the sainted dead 

About this temple move. 
Whose voices mingled once with mine 

In words of praise and love. 



ST. JAMEs' CHURCH. 169 



I feei that they are here to-day, 

Those unseen worshippers, 
.Blending the feeble songs of earth 

With heavenly choristers. 

I love this church ! I love her words 

Of holy prayer and praise, 
That far above this world of sin 

Our fettered spirits raise. 
In her the sw^eetest, purest joys 

That crown my life are found ; 
And o'er my sleeping dust her voice 

Of heavenly hope shall sound. 

Church of my heart 1 — thy lasting peace 

Shall claim my latest breath; 
And when my feeble heart and tongue 

Are cold and mute in death, — 
Still may thy sacred songs be sung, 

Still may thy prayers ascend. 
Until in triumph He shall come 

Whose reign shall have no end ! 



INFANT BAPTISM. 

INTO Christ's flock we give thee now, 
Lamb of our little fold ; 
Into the love, the heavenly care, 
By lips of earth untold. 

The blessed Arms that children took, 
The Heart that bade them come, 

Are opened wide for thee to-day, 
A refuge and a home. 

Into Christ's flock, — where never power 
Lamb from its Shepherd parts ; 

Into Christ's flock, — that blissful rest 
For weary, aching hearts ! 

We sign thee with His cross of love, 
We name thee with His name ; 

Cliild of His covenant of grace, 
Heir of a royal claim ! 



INFANT BAPTISM. I7l 



little heart, ne'er from tl:is fold 
Of peace and safety stray ; 

O little feet, though tempted oft, 
Keep in the narrow way ; — 

That so the life ])egun witli sign 
Of bitterest pangs and woes, — 

The life begun with suffering Christ 
With reigning Christ sliall close! 



ALL SAINTS' DAY. 

TO onr dear ones in Christ, who with 
The holj' angels live 
A higher, truer life than ours. 
This day of Saints we give. 

Each year some home is shadowed o'er. 
Some heart in sorrow faints ; 

Each year adds to tlie shining ranks 
Of church and household saints. 

Small part are we on earth of that 

Innumerable throng. 
That the eternal Throne surrounds 

With full, triumphant song. 

Our Saints ! — whom even death from us 

But for a season parts ! 
We bear them in our inmost thoughts, 

We name them in our hearts ! 



173 



Oa7' Saints ! — tliey loved us well on eartli ; 

And now, exalted thus, 
Their faces, glorious with the light 

Of heaven, still turn to us ! 

Our Saints ! — they have hut higher gone 

At our dear Master's call ; 
Still members of the self -same fold. 

One God above us all ! 

We worship here with fettered powers, 

They with angelic might ; 
We in the mists and shadows grope. 

They walk in joy and light. 

They are with Christ; they wait for us, 

As for expected guest. 
Who may be nearer than we think 

To that sweet land of rest. 



Let thoughts of them our aching hearts 

With hope and gladness fill, 
And may the calm that rests on them. 
Our troubled spirits still. 



174 



Thanks for the Saints wlio once with us 

The narrow pathway trod ! 
Thanks for the tried, the faithful souls 

At rest, to-day, with God. 

They perfected with us shall be. 

And one in heart and soul; 
Whom death hath parted, death shall join, 

One grand, one living whole ! 



COMMUNION THOUGHTS. 



BEFOKE COMMUNION. 

SAVIOUE, I hear Thy loving voice 
Bidding me come to Thee; 
I see Thy board before me spread 
With mercy wide and free. 

Unworthy to pick up tlie crumbs 

That from Thy tal)le fall, 
My guilty soul would shrink away 

But for Thy pleading call. 

I dare not slight that gracious voice, — 

I dare not turn away, 
While Mercy stands with open arms, 

And Jesus bids me stay. 



176 OOMMUNION THOUaH'I^Si 



Forgetting all but Thy own words^ 
I, trembling, come to Thee; 

'No other plea upon my lips 
But — Thou hast died for me. 

Oh ! may Thy kind, forgiving love 

My heavenly portion be ; 
Pardon, and strength, and peace I need. 

And they are found in Thee. 



THE INVITATION. 

"Draw near with faith, aud talte this holy sacrament to your com- 
fort." — Prayer Book. 

DEAW near with faith. Behold, the Saviour 
stands 
With tender, yearning heart, and outstretched hands ; 
With pleading voice He meekly deigns to crave, 
Ready to hear, to pity, and to save. 

Draw near with faith. Leave all thy doubts behind ; 
Distrust Him not who is so true and kind. 
Draw near, and see thy timid fears grow^ less ; 
He greets with love ; — He only w^aits to bless. 

Draw near with faith. Unworthy though thou art, 
Offer to Him — 'tis all He asks — thy heart. 
Not here He stands to call the righteous home; 
He calls the sinner — as a sinner come, 
10 



1Y8 COMMUNION THOUGHTS. 



Come with repentance, earnest, deep, and true. 
With love for Him to whom all love is due ; 
Forgiving as thou art of God forgiven. 
At peace with men, with conscience, and with heaven. 

Draw near with faith. Bring all thy heavy care; 
Thou hast no load thy Saviour will not bear ; 
He i:nows thy grief, He feels thy bitterest woe ; 
Himself hath walked the weary path below. 

Draw near with faith. Dost thou not sorely need 
Comfort and strengtli thy drooping soul to speed ? 
Draw near and feel how true, how strong his heart, 
And find the power He only can impart. 

Draw near witli faith. Oh ! can that voice of love 
One cold or careless spirit fail to move ? 
Turn not away; this pleading call may be 
The last thou canst reject, — the last for thee ! 



A F T E K COMMUNION. 

ALL glory be to Tlice^ Most High^ 
Most Wonderful and Good, 
That Thou hast given for love of me 
Thj body and Thy blood. 

Love that gave, that bore so much, 
O Love, so vast and deep. 

Safely within Thy sheltering folds 
My wandering spirit keep. 

For I am Thine, — called by Thy name, — 

Thy seal is on my brow; 
Angels and men have witnessed here 

My world-renouncing vow. 

Oh ! may this bread and wine of life 
So fill my soul and heart, 

1 ne'er will seek for other food. 
Will ne'er from Thee depart. 



180 COMMUI^ ION THOUGHTS. 



Each day to me this feast renew, 
And keep nie one in Thee; 

That I henceforth in Thee may live. 
And Thou may'st dwell in me. 



DEPARTED SAINTS. 

"We also bless Thy Holy Name for all Thy servants departed this 
life in Thy faith and fear ; beseeching Thee to give us grace so to follow 
their good examples, that with iheni we may be partakers of Thy 
heavenly kingdom." — Prat/ -^r Book. 

WE bless Thee for the holy ones departed, 
The good of every land, and age, and clime ; 
The meek, the constant, and the noble-hearted. 

Whose glorions deeds illume the shores of time, 
And life's high paths and noble aims revealing. 
For God and Truth shall never cease appealing. 

In bitter grief a heavy cross they carried, 

And blood and tears their weary steps bedewed; 

And oft they sank while their Deliverer tarried. 
Yet at His word, refreshed and unsubdued, 

They fearless met each hellish foe assailing. 

And faithful stood, with Christ the Lord prevailing. 

They li^-ed to earth a very scorn and wonder. 
Afflicted and tormented, tortured, slain; 



182 



COMMUNION THOUGHTS. 



Were mocked and scourged, were stoned and sawn 

asunder, 
Were tried and tempted, bound with bond and 

chain ; 
Forsaken, homeless,— yet with songs ascending 
The heavenly court, whose glories know no endini>:. 



We bless Thee that the world has seen such holy. 
Such hearts that never swerved from truth and 
Thee; 

But with a faith undaunted and jet lowly. 

Served Thee through blood, fire, death, and infamy. 

That she may know thei*e are who faithful bearing 

Tlieir cross on earth, their crowns in heaven are 



We bless Thee for the saintly ones among us. 

Whom we have loved, and mourned, and laid to 
rest; 
Whose parting words with quivering anguish wrung 
us, 
Though breathed upon the threshold of the blest ; 
Whose fair examples shining e\'er o'er us 
Make bright the paths their footsteps pressed before 
us. 



COMMUNION THOUGHTS . 183 



We bless Thee, thoiigb the bitter tears are falling, 
Though lone our hearts, and sad our firesides be ; 

Thouo^h for them still our vearnino; souls are calling, 
We bless Thee that thej are at rest with Thee, 

Where everlasting joys and pleasures centre. 

And never pain, nor sin, nor death, may enter. 



We bless Thee tliat Thou once didst lend them to us,^ 

The precious jewels Thou wilt keep and wear; 
We bless Thee that familiar voices woo us 

To the Idlest land where all our treasures are ; 
iVnd when we reach that shore, loved forms will 

meet us. 
And hearts that we have known and missed will greet 
us. ' 

Lord, give us grace their shining steps to follow. 
To live and die as they have lived and died ; 

In, but not of, a world false-hearted, hollow. 
Seeking above our Saviour, Friend, and Guide; 

And faithful to the end to Thee, the Giver, 

Sit down with them at Thy blest board "for ever ! 



imE 



